


we were boxing the stars

by justaboat



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 03:35:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2566775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justaboat/pseuds/justaboat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>au. liam and harry play football and their feelings have a bad habit of getting in the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we were boxing the stars

**Author's Note:**

> this is my birthday gift for the love of my life, [leighanne.](http://infernalserpent.tumblr.com/) her birthday was on halloween, so this is a bit late, but you know. one afternoon she went on a very large rant about harry and liam being football players in the south, with hot summer evenings in tennesse and peach cobbler, so. this was the outcome of that. happy birthday, i hope you enjoy it.
> 
> also a big thanks/i love you/can't live without you to amber, hannah, blake, daniela, emma, janelle, and natasha for putting up with me all the time. you deserve a trophy, honestly.

“You would think,” Louis’ voice carries from where he’s standing in the middle of the large, open field. “That growing up with three of my best friends being football stars, I might’ve learned a thing or two.”

He’s holding a football. Not properly, but close enough. Harry can be heard laughing from the sidelines. “Just throw the damn ball,” Niall calls, holding out his arms.

“Not yet,” Louis tells him, holding up a finger. Somewhere behind Niall, Zayn groans loudly. “I need to do this properly, don’t I?”

Liam glances over to Louis, grinning, as he rolls his eyes. “What, do you want us to tell you another play to call?” he asks, hand on his hip as Louis nods, solemnly.

“Imagine me as a quarterback,” Louis says. Tilts his chin up and puffs his chest out; a touch dramatic. “I have the ass for it, that’s for sure.”

“ _Christ_ ,” Niall mutters. Points a finger at Louis before adding, “don’t make me come over there and tackle you.”

Louis flips Niall off, apparently not all that concerned for his threats. He turns back to Liam once more, looking at him expectantly. Liam bows his head, so neither Niall or Zayn can hear him when he says, “red right thirty pull trap.”

“Harry —” Niall’s starting to say now, hands on his hips. “You’re referee, do something here why don’t you —”

“— Things like this take time, Niall, we can’t _all_ be star quarterbacks —” Harry says as Niall scoffs, looking rather offended. Liam bites his lower lip, holding back a laugh.

“I’m getting a beer,” Zayn says, Harry yelling at him that — “no, you stay there, Malik, what kind of team player _are you_ —”

“Red right thirty pull trap!” Louis yells out, loudly, Liam jumping in surprise as he tosses the football into the air.

It’s a poor throw; no real form to it. Liam watches as it winds in the air without any sort of direction as to where it’s heading. Zayn doesn’t move, just watches as Niall chases after it — his feet hitting the ground, fast, arms outstretched and hands ready. 

He fumbles the ball, Harry blowing his whistle obnoxiously as Liam runs a hand through his hair.

“Maybe if you fuckin’ _learned how to throw_ —” Niall’s say. Louis just grins.

“This means we win, doesn’t it?” he asks, glancing back at Harry. “Me and Payno, right? We win?”

“You cheated,” is the first thing Niall says, but Harry shakes head.

“They won, Louis is right,” Harry says, pointing a finger at Niall. “Now, if I do believe, you two owe us some beer, don’t you?”

Niall groans, loudly, as Zayn tosses a handful of grass at Harry in response. “Real mature, Malik,” Louis says, slinging an arm around Niall’s shoulders as they approach the sidelines.

“Gotta give a shoutout to Liam though,” Harry begins, whistle still hanging around his neck. “He managed to carry his team through the entire game.”

“Hey,” Louis argues, “that’s not fair. I caught the ball that one time.”

“You were in Niall and Zayn’s end zone,” Harry points out. Louis frowns, crossing his arms over his chest and mumbling something like, “asshole,” as he walks back toward the bench.

It’s a little before ten at night; the hot, July, Tennessee air making Liam’s shirt cling to him uncomfortably as he takes a drink from his water bottle. 

They’re all packing up, Liam’s gym bag already around his shoulder. He pauses, briefly, turning back toward the field. He’s been back a handful of times, seen a few games — went to a few practices; and it somehow still looks the same, standing there. The same big, bright lights. The stands, the colour blue prominent along the sidelines.

Given any Friday night and they’d be packed, full to the brim — with signs and face paint, yelling and cheering and, God, sometimes — when he’s missing home in his dorm room, sitting on his bed and looking through one of his old yearbooks, he misses it.

Like, really misses it. The kind of missing that leaves your chest tight, and your heart doing this weird, achy sort of thing Liam can never seem to stop. Because he knows this field; knows it inside and out, is sure he could come back on here like not a weekend has passed since his last game. 

Louis is saying something loudly to Niall, who argues back, as Liam crouches down carefully. He picks up a few pieces of grass, holding them in the palm of his hand as he exhales, slowly.

“Liam?”

He looks over his shoulder, seeing Harry a few feet away, eyeing him curiously. “You coming?”

“Yeah, shit — yeah,” Liam says, dropping the grass and rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Do you still need a ride?” he asks, taking out his keys.

“Don’t think Niall would let me ride with him anyway, since I let him lose,” Harry says, knocking Liam’s shoulder against his own lightly.

“Probably right. Make you walk, or something,” Liam agrees, following the other three toward the parking lot.

His truck is a few spots from Niall’s car, the faded red paint noticeable as he throws his bag into the back, Harry doing the same. The air conditioning is shot, has been since the first summer Liam got the damn thing, the windows still rolled down as he gets inside.

Harry’s in his track pants, plaid shirt unbuttoned as he looks over at Liam, briefly. “Still know the way to Niall’s?” he asks; teasingly, of course, Liam can tell by the way he’s biting back a lazy grin.

Liam rolls his eyes, turning the key and hearing the engine hum under his hands where they’re placed on the steering wheel. “Could always make you walk, you know,” he threatens, though there’s no real heat behind it.

“In this agonizing summer weather? You wouldn’t dare,” Harry says, leaning back comfortably.

Liam makes a soft, clicking sound of agreement with his tongue — following Niall’s car as he pulls out onto the empty road. 

It’s quiet; like it always is on Saturday nights. When the game is finished and everyone’s gone home, there’s a sort of stillness that settles within the town — one that Liam was always thankful for, anyway. There’s only the sound of the wind through the windows, cooling Liam off rather comfortably as he presses his lips together, Harry humming along to nothing beside him.

It’s his first summer home from school, and so far, Liam can’t say he has anything to complain about. Not when he’s sitting in his truck, and not when he’s got Harry beside him — his warm thumb pressing against Liam’s skin. He’s got his hand resting on the console, the other on the wheel, and Harry’s fingers wrapped limply around his wrist. 

“Should probably pick up some beer,” Harry says slowly, like he’s on the verge of falling asleep.

“Louis won’t want to stop,” Liam adds, looking over briefly to see Harry’s cap backward on his head, pushing back his curls, as he nods.

Liam’s house is along the way, still having some in his room from a few weeks back — Harry following him up the stairs. It’s dark, most of his family asleep. His older sister Ruth out working, but she won't be home yet as he pushes open the door to his bedroom.

“My, my,” Harry says slowly, leaning against the doorframe into Liam’s room. “What would Karen say?” he asks, tsking softly as Liam shakes his head.

He takes one of the boxes, handing them to Harry. Liam also grabs a sweater, assuming it’ll get colder later on as he approaches Harry.

“Would probably say you’ve been a bad influence,” Liam says, tugging on the collar of Harry’s shirt in response.

Harry grins, dimples pressing into his cheek as he shrugs easily. He leans forward, forehead bumping against Liam’s, noses brushing — breath warm on Liam’s cheek. They stand there for a few moments, unmoving.

And Harry’s about to press forward, Liam can tell by the way he runs his tongue along his lower lip — each move slow and calculated. How it always is with Harry, and Liam finds himself holding his breath, waiting, until —

There's movement from his parents room, the two of them springing apart as Liam takes the second box. The two of them head out the back door — hearing it swing shut as Liam locks it, walking back to the truck.

“I might be a bad influence, Payne,” Harry starts, getting into the front seat, beer now in the back along with their bags, “but you haven’t complained once about it, so.”

Liam pinches Harry forearm, briefly, hearing him making a noise in response as Liam turns the key again, backing out of the driveway, Harry’s smug smile following him the whole way out onto the road.

 

Niall’s house is on the edge of town, where the roads are gravel and the grass is long, and Liam always seems to find himself wishing he’d lived out here, almost. It’s nearly secluded from everything, tucked away in a small corner where no one barely knows you’re there. 

Liam can see a fire going as the pulls into the driveway, parking behind Niall’s car as he gets out. He goes to take one of the boxes of beer, Harry not far behind him. There’s a moment, when Liam’s picking up one of the boxes — Harry’s got his hands on Liam’s waist, lingering there possibly longer than necessary, his back nearly fully pressed up against Liam’s. Liam’s knows his cheeks are flushed despite the dark, night air. Harry steps back, grinning, like he hasn’t even done anything wrong.

“Alright there, Liam?” Harry asks, rubbing the top of Liam’s buzzed head.

“You’re the _worst_ , you know that?” Liam snaps in response, but Harry laughs.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry says innocently, walking beside Liam and smelling like beer and the cologne that’s still stubbornly clinging to his neck.

Harry looks at him, eyes flickering across his features, like he wants to say something. Instead, he starts to Niall’s backyard, plaid shirt unbuttoned and a somewhat overly large hat on his head Liam observes with a small, amused smile.

Liam keeps his fingers on Harry’s wrist, not even thinking about taking them off as he hears Louis’ voice from somewhere around the fire, “well, look who finally decided to show up.”

“Shut it,” Harry says, ruffling Louis’ hair affectionately as they go to sit by the fire. Liam lets go of Harry then, reluctantly, the warmth gone from his fingertips as Niall hands him a beer.

“What, did you get lost on the way?” Niall asks, grinning, even when Harry kicks at him feebly.

“I think we both still know the way to your house, Horan,” Harry says.

Liam goes to sit beside Zayn, who’s wearing one of Niall’s sweaters, the very noticeable number six across it. “You go to one school in Alabama and suddenly you’re too good to arrive on time to hangout with your own friends,” Louis continues, tossing a cap from one of the beers toward him.

“Be nice, he brought you beer,” Harry chastises, sitting beside Niall.

Louis sighs in silent defeat. “You’ll always be my favourite, Payno,” he says.

Niall snorts, tossing a piece of wood into the fire. “Full of shit,” he says to Louis, who flicks his ear in response. 

He drinks a bit of his beer, cold in the still somewhat warm, summer air.

Niall’s laughing loudly, coming to sit on Zayn’s knee, balancing himself as he looks over at Harry across the way.

“Seriously though, Harry,” he says, tipping his beer bottle toward him. Harry blinks, confused.

“What now, Horan,” Harry asks, sighing.

“Just think you should put those buttons of yours to good use,” Niall says simply. Louis tries to stifle a laugh, but fails. “Since they’re there, and all.”

Harry makes a face. “Didn’t think you’d mind seeing my chest,” he says, puffing it out a bit.

“God, put it _away_ Styles,” Louis says, batting at Harry’s arm.

Zayn grins where his face is pressed against Niall’s shoulder, Liam idly picking the label off his beer. “Always nice to have the gang back together again,” Liam comments sarcastically, their laughter carrying well into the night.

 

The night carries on, and Liam finds himself in a nice sort of haze. Could be due to the four beers he’s had, or the warm weather; either way he’s content to just, sit in it.

Most of the time is spent around the fire, all of them talking about school, their plans, and the future. And it’s not like Liam doesn’t mind talking about it. He’s had his future planned out since he could remember, six years old and going to his first pee-wee practice. He remembers going to his mom after, face bright and grass stains on the knees of his uniform.

“Mom,” he’d said, mind already made up. “I want to play football.”

And that’s all there’d been to it, really. Nothing’s changed, not now, not where he’s sitting. Harry and Niall with similar dreams, Louis and Zayn with other idea’s — their voices mixing together around the fire. It’s been the five of them for so long, he can’t remember any sort of future where they aren’t altogether. It makes his chest do that weird, tight, aching thing that Liam isn’t rather fond of.

Somewhere along the way he stands, the fire too warm and his head too full of different thoughts from trying to follow each conversation as he walks a few feet, to Niall’s pool. There’s some leaves floating along as he sits, slowly, letting his feet drop into the cool water. Liam stays there a few minutes, beer now finished, as he puts the bottle beside himself.

He’d considered, briefly, staying here. Staying in this small, basically unknown town in Tennessee. What he would do he doesn’t know; maybe work at his dad’s factory with him, take over his same place.

Be a firefighter, maybe, his second-hand dream. Though his mother told him she wouldn’t let her only son become a firefighter; claimed it was “far too unsafe.” But she worries too much, anyway. Liam couldn’t put that sort of stress on her, he thinks to himself.

“Drinking by yourself, Payne?”

Liam turns, sees Harry approaching him. He’s wearing his sweater now, just a little too big, curls pushed back as he sits beside him at the pool. Liam’s quiet, watching as Harry rolls up his pants, before putting his feet in the water.

“Niall always says he cleans this pool,” Harry starts, “but I always think he’s full of shit.”

Liam laughs, quietly, nodding. “Don’t let him hear you say that,” he says, knee nudging against Harry’s where they’re sitting beside one another. “Might throw you in here.”

“Could take him,” Harry says confidently, crossing his arms over his chest.

Liam doesn’t argue with him, because he knows Harry’s right. He leans back on the palms of his hands as he exhales, slowly.

There’s ripples coming from where Harry’s moving his legs around, a light in the kitchen illuminating where they’re sitting. 

“Liam?”

Harry breaks the silences that’s settled between them, looking over at Liam with this unreadable, soft expression. Liam pauses, pretends not to notice the way Harry’s eyes move to his lips, then back to his eyes once again.

“Hmm?” Liam hums in response, waiting.

“Do you think, like —” Harry trails off momentarily, brows knit together. Liam can only see the outline of his face in the dim lighting, can make out a small frown on his lips. “If you had a chance to do one thing, right now, would you?”

“What do you mean?” Liam asks.

Somewhere behind them Louis is laughing loudly — Niall yelling something unintelligible as Liam keeps his gaze focused on Harry.

“We’re leaving in a few weeks, right? And I know it’s the same thing, because we’re in our second year — it’s not like we haven’t done this before,” Harry continues, and Liam nods, ignoring the pang in his chest when Harry says it. “And I just — there’s things I still want to do.”

“What kind of things?” Liam presses.

Harry taps a finger against the back of Liam’s hand thoughtfully. “Just some small, trivial things.”

“Like doing laps around the field naked?” Liam asks.

Harry laughs, knocking his forehead into Liam’s shoulder, his whole body shaking with it as he shakes his head. “Already did that. How could you forget, Liam,” he says, sounding only mildly offended. 

“You know,” Liam starts, Harry’s fingers now wrapped around Liam’s wrist in that now familiar way he’s grown accustomed to. “Now that you mention it. I do remember it, I think. Your pale white bum making the rounds, wasn’t it?”

“I think _white_ is a bit of a stretch,” Harry says, defensive. 

Liam doesn’t pull his hand away, not when Harry runs his thumb along the inside of his wrist in slow, lazy, circles. He swallows, feeling weirdly nervous, waiting for Harry to say something and reminding himself to breathe.

They should get back, probably, before Louis comes over and will most likely yell at them to go back to the fire, or something. But Liam can’t bring himself to move, not when he’s got Harry pressed up against his side, forehead still against his shoulder and body warm. So, he’ll stay, just for a few more moments.

“What is it, then,” Liam asks, nudging his shoulder as Harry shifts.

Harry lifts his head, hat gone; instead replaced by a scarf wrapped around his head, looking as though it’s about to fall off at any moment. Liam doesn’t say anything, just watches, afraid to breathe — might break the silence between them that feels weighted, somehow, though he’s not sure when that happened.

He’s known Harry since he was ten years old, when the curly haired boy had come onto the field, helmet under his arm and dimples prominent, even then. It’s always been them. If it was three in the morning and Harry needed to just — go for a drive and get out of the house. When his parents had been fighting and he couldn’t sleep, Liam would come and get him, in his dad’s old pick up truck. And they’d just drive. Or when Liam had been nervous before a game, the pressure getting to him. Harry would know, somehow always knew, putting a firm hand on his shoulder, voice even and low, just for Liam to hear, “you’re gonna be fine, Payne. Just keep your eyes on me.”

And it never failed him, not ever. So Liam keeps his eyes on Harry, because that’s what he knows how to do; knows he can trust that more than his own gut, sometimes.

“Just —” Harry murmurs, pressing a gentle finger underneath Liam’s chin. Harry’s already looking at Liam, as if searching for some kind of answer. He seems to find it before leaning in, mind made up, and presses his lips to Liam’s.

It should be a surprise. The kind of thing that has Liam pull away and tell Harry that no, they can’t do this — should ask him where it came from. But instead, Liam finds himself bringing a hand to cup Harry’s cheek, eyes closing and pressing back, tasting beer and corn chips and something else so distinctly Harry it makes his head spin.

Harry’s lips are warm, and soft compared to Liam’s, which are slightly chapped. Though Harry doesn’t seem to notice that. Instead, he presses his thumb to the inside of Liam’s wrist, and Liam’s sure he can feel his pulse — beating fast under his skin, much like the way his heart is pounding to an irregular rhythm in his own chest, now. 

It goes on for a few more minutes, one of Harry’s hands curling around the back of Liam’s neck when they pull apart. Liam’s breathing heavily, upper lip slightly sore — Harry’s forehead against his own as they stay there for a few moments, unmoving.

“So,” Liam starts, one of his hands gripping the fabric of Harry’s sweater, just over his chest.

Harry smiles, just a little, running his tongue of his lower lip. “Was that on your list?” Liam asks, feeling Harry’s nose brush against his own.

“Yeah,” Harry answers, no hint of hesitation. 

“Oh,” Liam breathes out.

“C’mon,” Harry says, gently, pushing himself up to stand as Liam follows, both their feet wet where they’re standing. 

They walk back to the fire, side by side, and if any of them saw Harry’s hand tangled in Liam’s behind their backs, none of them say anything. But Liam can’t say he would mind all that much if any of them did, anyway.

 

In the end of his senior year of high school, Liam had picked the University of Alabama. He knew it was the one he wanted to go to since the beginning, to be fair, but Liam had promised his mom he would give all the other schools a chance. But in the end, it was always going to be Alabama.

It’s all a bit strange, the football world, as his father calls it. Him and Harry had garnered a bit of attention, back in the beginning — when they’d just been starting out. Liam remembers the first time he’d been featured in the paper, being called “ _one of the most powerful fullback’s to be on the look out for_.” His mom still has it, taped up on the fridge; despite being worn out and the edges are frayed, she hasn’t moved it.

And its not like Liam plays for that. For the articles and the interviews — for the crowds and the cheering at every game. He plays because he can’t think of anything else he wants to do, really, than stand on that big open field and do what he does best.

It’s been him, Harry, and Niall — unofficially named the “unbeatable three” throughout their high school years. Niall is their quarterback, QB, calling the plays and keeping his teammates together, making sure everyone’s ready so they know what they’re doing. Liam and Harry are his fullbacks; the “power”, as coach used to tell them, the ones that Niall needs to depend on to make sure his throws go through. 

Niall picked Alabama, along with Liam. Louis had told him to “be more original, Horan,” too which Niall rolled his eyes in response. Harry, in the end, had picked the University of North Carolina, though that had come as a surprise to Liam.

They hadn’t talked about it. Every time they were together it was was always there, a silent question that Harry refused to answer, and Liam never pushed him too. 

Harry’s signing had been a few day after Liam’s, a bunch of people stuffed into a small room, a table at the front — with the top three picks in front of him, all hats, as Liam waited. There’d been camera’s flashing every so often, Harry’s parents at his side, and Liam crossed his arms over his chest silently.

He thought, maybe, it was going to be Alabama. Liam’s not sure why he hoped so much for it. Maybe so it could be the three of them, like it always was — something familiar for Liam to walk on the field too.

That, and Liam’s not sure he could picture going somewhere, without Harry. 

But, Harry had picked up North Carolina. And Liam still to this day hasn’t told anyone about the way his heart sank in his chest, just a little, with disappointment. 

Harry’s verbal commitment had been to them, so it’s not like this was a complete surprise, or anything. It’s just — it became a reality then; one that Liam has learned to adapt to.

With texts and Skype calls. With Harry constantly leaving drunk voicemails on Liam’s phone, with Liam texting him selfies whenever he’s bored in class. It’s not the same, not by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s something, at least. Liam would always watch Harry’s games whenever he played, always makes a point of it. And he knows Harry does too, because his phone will light up with texts. _Good tackle there, Payne_ with a bunch of winking emoji’s after it. Makes Harry not feel so distant, then, when he does stuff like that.

But he doesn’t talk about. Instead, he goes to work — stacking the shelves of a local grocery store part time. Keeps him busy, keeps him out of the house, and keeps his mind off of the fact that he’s leaving in a little less than three weeks. 

“Hey, Liam?”

He looks up where he’s got a cart of tomato paste cans, seeing his manager. “After those you can go, okay?” he says, and Liam nods. “We’ll see you on Wednesday.”

It takes him ten minutes to get everything finished, clocking out and taking his keys from his pocket as he walks out into the parking lot. 

_Whaaaaaat are you up to?_ he reads a text from Harry, getting into the driver’s seat.

 _Just got off wrk. Whhhhhhy? :)_ Liam sends back.

 _Come to the diner. I need someone to help me finish these fries. Caroline gave me too many again :(_

Liam smiles, knows he can’t say no where he’s got his forehead pressed to his steering wheel. _Beeee there in tennnn_ he sends without a second thought. 

He stops to get gas, the person behind the desk watching something on television as Liam approaches, fishing for his wallet from his back pocket.

“Are you ready?” the man, _Darren_ , according to his name tag, asks.

Liam pauses, handing over the twenty dollar bill. “For school?” Darren clarifies.

“Sure, I mean — I guess,” Liam says, shrugging. Sometimes it escapes him that this town knows practically every detail on his life, but is reminded in instances such as this. “Don’t really have much of a choice but to be ready, right?” he adds.

Darren nods, handing him his change. “Well, we’ll be rooting for you,” he says.

Liam gives him an appreciative nod, smiling a little before he goes — receipt in his hand as he makes his way back to his truck. 

He’s about five minutes out from the diner, the roads mostly quiet as Liam drives, the engine humming where he’s gripping the steering wheel with two hands. It’s warmer than it’s been the past few weeks, the windows down and Liam’s shirt feeling like it’s sticking to him uncomfortably as he pulls up into the parking lot. It’s mostly empty, a few cars scattered throughout as he gets out, not bothering to roll up the windows as he heads to the door.

Harry’s at the far end, his usual table, typing away on his phone as Liam slides in across from him. “Thank God you’re here,” Harry says, not looking up. “I thought you’d abandoned me to eat all these on my own.”

“You know,” Liam says, picking up a bit of Harry’s food and taking a bite. “You’re going to have to learn how to be dependent on yourself to finish your own food, when you go.”

Harry looks up, finally, and frowns. “Why would I do that,” he asks, leaning forward against the table. “When I’ve found a way around it.”

Liam pauses, looking at him. Harry’s biting the corner of his lip, dipping one of his fries into a small bit of ketchup on his plate. “You’re just going to have to come to North Carolina with me. Problem solved,” he says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

And Liam wants to tell him. Wants to say that maybe they should’ve picked the same school, so he doesn’t have to go through another year of missing Harry. But he doesn’t, instead dipping a fry into Harry’s small pile of ketchup as he takes a bite of it.

A couple comes in a few moments later, a small bell going off on the door as Liam glances over at them, then back to Harry once more. “Might be a bit far for me to commute,” he says. 

Harry makes a face. “Not that far,” he argues, but its a weak one, at any rate.

“A little far,” Liam replies, cheeks heating up as he feels Harry’s ankle wrap around his own from underneath the table.

“Liam?”

They both look up, seeing Liam’s ex girlfriend, Danielle, a few feet away. She gives him a small, hesitant wave, and Liam smiles.

“Danielle,” he says, slowly standing as he moves to give her a hug. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” she tells him, both her hands bracing Liam’s arms before she looks behind Liam, smiling to Harry. “Hi, Harry.”

“Hi, Danielle,” Harry says. He sounds a little jealous, Liam registers, but doesn’t think too much of it as she looks back at him.

“Home from school for the summer?” she asks, gripping Liam’s upper arm gently as she talks.

“For a bit, yeah. Gotta go back soon for football practice though,” Liam says.

“Ah, right. I almost forgot about that,” she tells him, smiling.

Liam laughs, gently. “Football isn’t all fun and games, you know.”

“I know,” Danielle says, and Liam can see her recalling the same thing he is, probably. The fact that football had been the reason they’d broken up, in the end. Two years together and not any of Liam’s attempts to keep them together had helped. Just made them drift apart more, probably, he thinks.

She’s warm. Always with that same, gentle expression — voice soft and Liam remembers, now, how it had been so easy to fall in love with her. Because God knows he’d been in love with her; head over fucking heels. 

“And you’re good? I heard you’re at Sarah Lawrence, right?” Liam asks, vaguely hearing Harry shifting behind him.

“I am, yeah. It’s really great. A bit far, but. I’m really glad to be there,” Danielle says. “I should go, though, I’ve got my boyfriend waiting in the car, just came to pick up some food —”

“It’s fine. Harry and I were leaving, anyway,” Liam says.

“It was good to see you though, Liam,” Danielle tells him, voice sincere as she grips his hand, once. “You too, Harry.”

“Bye, Danielle,” Harry says, hooking his chin on Liam’s shoulder. She gives them one last wave, heading back out the door as Liam smirks.

He turns around, though Harry makes no effort to put any actual space between them as Liam feels one of his hands curl around his waist, tugging gently.

“So. Got any more plans for this evening?” Liam asks. They don’t talk about how they have less than two weeks at home. Instead, he watches the way Harry grins — lips a deep shade of red before he shrugs.

“I mean,” he starts, casting a sideways glance to the window. “I was sort of thinking we could go somewhere and make out in the back of your truck. It’s open for debate, though.”

Their fries have gone cold anyway, Liam not really wanting to hang around anymore as Harry makes his way toward the counter. Liam watches, arms crossed over his chest as Harry leans over the top of it, looking up at Caroline, who’s presently pouring ketchup into bottles.

“Had some help with your fries, I see?” he hears Caroline ask Harry, mock unimpressed.

He can see Harry’s pout from where he’s standing, lower lip prominently pushed out as Liam tries not to laugh. “I meant no offense,” he says, holding up his hands. 

Caroline’s smiling, reaching up to pinch one of Harry’s cheeks — helpless to his charm. I know how you feel, Liam thinks briefly to himself, as he snorts into the back of his hand. 

“Alright well, get going then,” she says, not accepting the money Harry’s holding up.

“But —” Harry starts, though it’s no use as Caroline shakes her head once more.

“It’s on me today, superstar. You and Liam get out of here,” she says. Harry leans over, pressing a brief kiss to her cheek before he walks back over to Liam, looking rather impressed with himself.

“Must be nice,” Liam says, bumping Harry’s hip with his own. “Getting free food just for having dimples.”

Harry grins, pressed his face into Liam’s shoulder as they step back outside. “You could too if you try hard enough, you know.”

“Don’t think so,” Liam says, feeling Harry’s warm breath on his neck as he laughs in response, “no one can charm Flack the way you do.”

“Ah, well,” Harry says, getting into the front of Liam’s truck. “One day she’ll come around to you, Li.”

“Is that supposed to be comforting,” Liam asks flatly, starting the car as he pulls out of the parking lot.

“It’s supposed to be whatever you want it to be,” Harry says, grinning over at Liam as they drive off down the road. 

 

They park at one of the lookouts, cliched as it is, because neither of them can think of anywhere else. It’s not long before they get into the back of Liam’s truck, hardly any other cars around them in the thick July air — Harry tugging on the collar of Liam’s shirt, lightly. 

“Hey,” Harry says, pressing the pad of his thumb against the corner of Liam’s mouth. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Liam lies. 

It’s just. In a few weeks, they’ll be gone again, and he’ll only have the memory of what Harry tastes like. And Liam doesn’t even know what they’re doing, right now, what it means or what he’s supposed to think of it all, so he just —

Kisses Harry. 

Their noses bump together awkwardly, nearling missing one another altogether as Harry just laughs — breathless and humming when he finally connects with Liam. Liam can feel his hands shaking as he cups one side of Harry’s face, thumb brushing along his skin. 

He remembers the first time he parked here, way back when he was a freshman in highschool. It was just after he’d started dating Danielle — one of the head cheerleaders and legs that made Liam’s head spin. He had told her he’d done this before, but she knew he’d been lying, though she’d never called him out on it. 

But somehow, being here with Harry, no other times really seem to matter. Especially not when he’s got Harry pressing up against his chest, Harry tasting like ketchup and something sweet — Harry all warm and sucking on Liam’s lower lip, coaxing a groan out of him in response. 

“Didn’t think you’d be so vocal, Payne,” Harry says, nipping along Liam’s lower lip — before smoothing them out with his tongue. “I like it, though.”

Liam rolls his eyes, too focused on the way Harry licks into his mouth when he parts his lips to say anything in response. Harry’s got a hand on his thigh, not moving but just sort of _there_ , warm and squeezing every once in a while — applying enough pressure near Liam’s almost half-hard dick that he feels like he might pass out. 

Harry’s lips are soft, insistent and experienced enough that Liam’s sure he could kiss Harry for the rest of life and never get tired of it. He doesn’t say this, just presses his other hand to Harry’s chest — trying to steady himself best he can.

Liam’s nearly panting when Harry’s hand brushes his dick, and he doesn’t have the capacity to try and think about if it’s intentional or not. All he knows is that Harry pulls away then, just a little, as he palm’s Liam through his jeans and making Liam feel really fucking close to making a mess in them. “Harry —” Liam starts, gripping at the fabric of his shirt.

“Yeah?” Harry asks, sucking on the skin of Liam’s neck.

“Don’t start what you can’t — finish,” Liam manages to get out, nearly whining at the pressure Harry’s applying to his dick.

Harry smirks, fucking _smirks_ , before shaking his head. “Think I can finish this, if you’d like,” he says, tugging on the waist of Liam’s jeans.

He doesn’t think about the other cars around, doesn’t think he really fucking cares before he nods, the response feeling frantic as he tips his head back to try and stifle a moan.

“Let me know if you want me to stop —” Harry starts, but Liam doesn’t say anything; just waits.

Harry’s first stroke is long and slow, thumb pressing into the slit of Liam’s cock as he chokes out a small noise. He presses his face into Harry’s clothed shoulder, biting down and trying to even his breathing as Harry just grins, Liam can see it from the side of his face.

He works up to a rhythm, Harry using the precome already leaking from Liam’s dick to help himself with that — his palm slick and warm as Liam bites back another groan. “ _Fuck_ ,” he breathes out, eyes closed as he nearly sees stars.

Harry’s good at this. And not just in the ‘wow thanks for relieving my hard dick’ kind of way. More so in the way he strokes, his long fingers covering most of Liam’s hard dick and squeezing just enough to make Liam inhale sharply, biting down once more on Harry’s shoulder. How he goes from fast to slow with no warning and enough to make Liam begin to nearly pant where he’s biting the inside of his cheek.

“Shit, Harry —” Liam starts, because he’s so so close now, isn’t sure if he can last much longer.

Harry turns his head, just a little, lips brushing against Liam’s as he says, “go on, then,” and that’s when Liam does.

It’s a mixture of relief and still somehow arousal, also accompanied with feeling like a twelve year old coming in this pants in the back of his dad’s old pick up truck. 

“Well, well, number sixteen,” Harry starts, laughing into Liam’s neck. “How was that?”

Liam sighs, trying to regain at least some of his dignity with Harry’s hand still down his fucking pants. “It was, you know. It was good.”

Harry snorts, pressing a kiss to the underside of Liam’s jaw. “I mean, not the best review I’ve ever gotten, but I’ll take it.”

Liam rolls his eyes, kissing Harry again before he makes a noise. “So is it your turn, or —” but Harry shakes his head, cutting him off.

“I mean, as much as I would love that, right now,” Harry starts, “I figure we could, you know. Go back to your place, and figure it out from there.”

Liam swallows, weirdly nervous. “Yeah,” he says. “Everyone should be asleep so that’s — fine.”

They don’t say much else on the matter, Liam’s pants sticking to his thighs where the come is already starting to dry — both of them getting into the truck as he drives them to his house.

Harry sings with the radio, loud and his voice carrying as Liam smiles to himself, shaking his head. Harry’s hair is longer, the longest Liam’s ever seen it on him — whipping around his face as he runs a hand through it, tries to keep it down best he can, but its no use.

“Sing with me, Liam,” Harry says, extending a hand toward him.

Liam laughs, can’t help it, as he pulls up to a stop sign. The radio’s loud and Harry’s hand still outstretched that Liam leans down, pressing a brief kiss to Harry’s wrist before he holds it in his own. Harry grins — dimples pressed into his cheeks as he pushes back down onto the gas pedal.

“Alright, well,” Harry says, intertwining their fingers. “That works too.”

Liam gets him off when they reach his house, the two of them on Liam’s bed. Harry’s lips parted and breathing heavily when he comes undone at Liam’s hand, loose limbed and heavy as he presses himself on top of Liam, the mattress dipping under their weight.

“Could get used to this,” Liam says, Harry nosing along his hairline now.

“Think I could too,” Harry says, head on Liam’s chest and squeezing his hand once before they drift off to sleep. 

 

Anne’s hosting her usual party in the garden, Harry texting him to come over while Liam’s bored at his house a few days later. 

His mom’s in the living room, helping work on his little sister’s dress for formal as Liam pauses in the doorway, his dad outside mowing the lawn. It’s hot out — really fucking hot, Liam almost forgoing a shirt altogether as he puts his phone into his pocket.

“And you like the colour?” he overhears his mom ask, Nicola inspecting the fabric before she nods slowly.

It’s a dark purple, the dress hardly even started as he sees his mom with pins in her mouth, glasses pushed up on top of her head. Their air conditioning doesn’t work in their house, the only breeze coming in through the windows — and they’re all warm, cheeks flushed as Liam watches his sister laugh, quietly.

“You think your date will like it?” his mom asks, and Nicola noticeably blushes.

“He better,” she mumbles, and Liam smiles with a small sense of pride. 

“You going to stand there and watch us all day or are you going to help?” Karen asks after a moment, looking over at Liam with an expectant sort of expression on her face. 

Liam laughs, shaking his head as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Can’t, sorry. Going to Harry’s mom’s party, or something,” he says simply.

Nicola rolls her eyes, tossing a small pillow toward Liam. It misses, hitting the floor with a quiet sound. “You’re always with Harry,” his mom comments. Her tone is innocent, but Liam knows the look she’s giving him — that knowing one that makes him shrug, trying to play it off.

“We’re friends,” he says, like it should be obvious.

Karen hums, telling Nicola not to move as she puts in another pin to the fabric of her dress. “Be home at a decent hour then, alright? You work tomorrow,” she reminds him.

“I know,” Liam says, reaching for his keys. “I’ll call you if anything comes up.”

“Have fun!” Karen calls after him, voice carrying as the front door squeaks shut behind him. Liam makes his way to the truck, opening the driver’s side as he gives his dad a wave before starting the engine.

He leaves the windows open, the breeze warm as he drives down the road. One of his hands rests on the wheel, the other hanging out a little ways onto the side of his car — feeling the hot metal against his fingertips as he sighs, quietly.

Apparently Niall and Zayn are going to be there, according to Harry — but he’s only saving Liam peach cobbler at his special request. The thought makes Liam’s stomach do this weird flip, heart jumping in his chest to an irregular rhythm as he pulls up in front of Styles’ house.

There’s a number of cars parked along the street, all of which are big and expensive looking, as Liam tries not to feel too self conscious of his truck. His family has never been as well off as Harry’s — not that he thinks too much about that, or anything, it’s just something he’d realized a while ago. Not that it changes anything, because it doesn’t, Liam tells himself as he walks up the driveway.

Gemma’s home for the summer, having just graduated from Brown with her degree in something smart. Liam can’t remember for the life of him what that would be, all he knows is that Harry says it fits with her “annoyingly clever personality”, which. Liam isn’t going to argue with.

The first thing Liam hears is conversation — lots of different conversations going on as he kicks off his shoes, tugging down on his white t shirt as he steps inside. He has no idea where Harry is, can only see a number of people scattered through the living room just off the front hallway. He feels a little out of place, hands in the pockets of his jeans as he tries not to feel too underdressed for this whole occasion. 

“Liam Payne, is that you?”

He hears the familiar voice, turning around to see Anne a few feet away. She’s smiling widely, arms outstretched as Liam steps into her hug. She holds him for a few moments — warm and just how Liam knows her to be as he pulls back after a moment.

“Sorry I’m — not really dressed, for this,” Liam says sheepishly, but Anne only shakes her head in response.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Have you seen Harry?” she says, “shirt unbuttoned, so it’s like he’s hardly wearing one.”

“Yeah he’s — taken to that,” Liam says, laughing when Anne rolls her eyes.

“Yes, well. He’s just outside on the deck, if you’re looking for him,” she tells him, gripping Liam’s arm gently. “I’m glad you came, Liam.”

“Me too,” Liam says, nodding. “It’s been a while, feels like.”

“Most certainly has. Don’t know why you all picked schools so far away,” Anne says, pouting only a little. “Harry missed you something terrible, though.”

Liam clears his throat, looking down to his feet briefly. “Probably not that much,” he mutters, feeling weirdly embarrassed. 

“No, it was a little more than much, you’re right,” Anne says, head tilted to one side and giving Liam a soft smile. “I won’t hold you up any longer, though,” she finishes. “Say goodbye to me before you leave, alright?”

“Course,” Liam tells her, giving her one last smile before she goes off back into the crowd.

Harry’s not all that hard to miss, when Liam steps out onto the back deck. He’s talking to a group of people Liam doesn’t know, hands raised and telling a story as he always does — animatedly and just a little over embellishment to get a reaction out of people. It makes something swell in Liam’s chest — waiting for him to finish before he goes anywhere.

It’s about half a minute until Harry catches sight of Liam, headscarf wrapped around his hair again as he winks, momentarily going back before he finishes up, shaking hands with a person as Liam bites his lower lip.

“What, not drinking?” Harry asks, offering Liam a beer from the cooler behind them.

“Could be persuaded,” Liam says, accepting the bottle as he takes a sip. “My mom doesn’t want me out too late, though,” he adds, Harry grinning.

“Well. I do want to stay on Karen’s good side,” Harry says, his fingertips tapping on Liam’s hand lightly.

Liam scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Like you could ever get on her bad side,” he says, and Harry shrugs.

“Yes, well. We can’t all have my level of charm,” he says.

“Enough,” Liam says, feeling one of Harry’s hands grip at his waist lightly. 

He doesn’t move away, and its a few moments until Louis comes up behind Harry — a plate of food in his hand as he pinches Harry’s side. 

“I’m bored,” Louis says. “Hi, Liam.”

“Hi, Louis,” Liam says, smiling as Harry presses his forehead against Liam’s arm.

“If you’re so bored why don’t you go entertain yourself,” Harry suggests flatly, swatting Louis’ hand away.

“Excuse me,” Louis says, affronted. “I came here because you bullied me into coming, when I was perfectly content to sit in front of my television and play Fifa all day. So here I am, like a good best friend. And while I’d rather not sit and walk Niall and Zayn bone all day in your pool shed —”

“Is that what they’re doing in there? Oh for fuck’s sake —” Harry starts, but Louis continues, rattling on.

“I need to be entertained, and you’re just the boys to do that for me,” Louis says, poking a finger firmly into Harry’s chest, then Liam’s.

“That’s going to bruise,” Harry says, pouting. “What would you like Liam and I do then, since you’re so bored. Strip? Maybe start giving out lap dances to the highest bidder?”

Louis snorts, and Liam shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s going to need more beer. “While that sounds strange and mildly erotic, I’ll have to pass,” Louis says, shoving Harry lightly. “Surely you have more idea’s than you and Liam stripping, of all things,” he adds sarcastically.

“I’ll have to think,” Harry says, rather serious.

It’s the three of them for a little while, Louis following alongside Harry and Liam as they walk through the backyard — the sun starting to set and cooling down the air. They find some unoccupied lawn chairs, Harry starting one of those small pit fires when Zayn and Niall finally reappear.

“Don’t even bother trying to fix yourself,” Louis says, not looking up where he’s tossing random handfuls of grass into the fire.

“Stop that,” Harry chastises, pushing his hand away as Louis frowns.

“What are you even talking about,” Zayn says, flicking at Louis’ ear as he comes to sit beside Liam. There isn’t enough chairs, but Niall doesn’t seem all that upset about it — fitting into Zayn’s lap easily. Louis makes a face.

The fire dies out quickly, people starting to go and leaving the rest of them to sit on Harry’s old lawn chairs.

They mostly talk about school, and the rest of their summers. And by the time they’re packing up their things Liam feels weirdly empty, somehow. Harry seems to notice, can most likely tell by the way Liam isn’t talking — his thumb pressing into Liam’s wrist as they walk to the front door.

“Why don’t you stay for a bit?” Harry asks, the sun just now setting as Liam looks at him. Louis, Niall and Zayn are already in the front hall, searching for their shoes as Liam pauses. “I mean, I _did_ save you some peach cobbler.”

Liam smiles, can’t help himself with the way Harry’s looking at him, lips pressed together as he waits for a response.

“I mean, if there’s peach cobbler involved…” Liam trails off, but Harry knows he’s won as he releases Liam’s wrist after a moment.

“Not for my company? How very _dare_ you, Liam,” Harry says.

Liam bites back a laugh, a few people still talking to Anne and Robin in the kitchen. “You’re the one trying to seduce me with peach cobbler,” he says, tugging on the collar of Harry’s still unbuttoned shirt.

“This was not seducing,” Harry says firmly. “I was merely reminding you of why you came here in the first place.”

“Menace,” Liam says, leaning down to press a quick kiss to Harry’s lips. It’s closed mouthed and fleeting, but it’s enough contact to get Liam’s heart racing in his chest.

“Are you two coming or what,” Louis snaps from the front hallway. 

“Sorry, we got — tied up,” Harry says. Louis gives them a disapproving look. 

“I’m going to stay and help with some dishes,” Liam adds, motioning towards the kitchen. 

“I can give Louis a ride then,” Zayn offers, keys in hand. Niall’s leaning into his side in the front doorway, eyeing the two of them curiously. “So long as he promises to sit back and not touch the radio.”

Louis kicks at his foot, Niall reaching over and hitting his arm, lightly, before Zayn moves to stand between them. “Sure you’re going to make it?” Harry asks, amused.

“I’ll let you know,” Zayn says grimly, nearly pushing Louis out the front door. Liam watches them go, Louis’ loud complaining following them down the path toward Zayn’s car.

Harry tugs on Liam’s hand, leading him upstairs. Liam goes easily — no hesitation as he follows Harry, the voices from downstairs being drowned out by the time Liam steps into his room.

Nothing’s really changed about it. Still with the North Carolina flags along the wall — a few pictures of the team, over the years. Others of Harry and Niall, one of Louis and Zayn among others, Liam looking at them for a few moments before Harry clears his throat.

“And, after long last,” Harry says, holding up a bowl and spoon, “peach cobbler.”

Liam accepts the bowl, shaking his head at Harry’s amused expression. He feels weirdly under pressure, digging his spoon in as he takes a bite.

“Quit staring,” he says through a mouthful of food.

Harry puts his hands behind his back, busying himself with putting on a sweater as Liam takes another bite. “And?” Harry asks. “I expect your full review, now.”

“Didn’t know there would be so much work involved,” Liam mumbles.

Harry gives him a small, apologetic smile, now sitting on the edge of his bed with his computer. “I have something for you, though,” he says.

“If it’s porn, need I remind you that your family is just downstairs,” Liam says. Harry flips him off.

“It’s not porn,” Harry huffs.

There’s a few moments of silence before music starts playing, a familiar song that Liam hasn’t heard in ages. “Shit,” Liam breathes out, laughing a little as he runs a hand through his hair. “What was this, formal in our sophomore year?”

“Junior,” Harry corrects gently. “Also the year we had our first dance, how could you forget.”

Liam feels his cheeks heating up, Harry approaching him slowly in the small space of his room. “I’m still terrible at this,” Liam warns before he accepts Harry’s hand.

Harry doesn’t seem too bothered, wrapping his hand around Liam’s — one of his hands going to his waist. “Lucky for you, I’ve been practicing,” Harry says.

They move slowly — Liam self conscious as Harry presses up against him, warm and smelling good as he always does. It’s like they’re back in their old school gym again, with streamers hanging from the ceiling — their classmates all piled around them on the dance floor. Back when things felt simpler, at least.

Harry’s got his face buried against Liam’s neck, and even now it reminds Liam of just how nervous he’d been, back then, to have Harry this close to him. 

Its nice, Liam decides. Nice to have Harry’s palm pressed against his own, to have his hand lingering on Liam’s waist — have him guiding with gentle movements. 

“Feet hurt,” Liam murmurs a little while later. 

Harry doesn’t argue, lips dragging along Liam’s neck as he says, “figured.”

He’s teasing, lips warm as Liam gently presses his thumb into Harry’s hip. It’s a few, agonizing moments before Harry kisses him again — lips warm and familiar and Liam finds himself wanting more more more _more_ as he tugs Harry closer toward him.

“I have — to go home,” Liam pants out, curling a hand around Harry’s wrist gently. “Karen’s waiting.”

Harry makes a quiet, whining sound before shaking his head. “Or you could stay,” he tells Liam, sucking on his lower lip.

Liam shivers, taking in a deep breath as he pulls back. “We can continue this later though, right?”

He can see Harry swallow — follows the bob of his adam’s apple and Liam hates himself a little for it before Harry nods, once, in response. 

“Later,” Harry says, but it sounds something like a promise.

“Later,” Liam repeats, pressing a kiss to Harry’s cheek before he makes his way back toward his bedroom door.

And if he finds himself thinking about Harry for the ride home and most of the night, then, so be it.

 

Liam wakes up to a text from Louis the next morning.

_liar. you weren’t doing the fucking dishes. what’s going on between you and harry_

He stares at the screen for a few moments, considering what sort of response he could possibly give. He’s got to be at work in less than an hour and right now he doesn’t have the time to deal with Louis nosing his way into Liam’s love life.

He locks the screen, putting it down onto his bed as he opens his computer. There’s a few emails about school, payments — some others from coaches about practice times, and Liam can already feel the way his stomach clenches with something similar to nerves as he hovers his mouse over them, not yet opening any of them. Those can wait, he tells himself as he looks for some pants to put on. 

His mom’s downstairs, cooking up what smells to be eggs as Liam reaches over to try and take a piece of bacon off the plate beside her on the counter. She makes a sound, pinching his arm as Liam just grins — taking a bite of it.

“Off to work?” she asks, eyeing Liam.

“Yes,” he says, feeling weirdly on the spot now. “Is that alright with you?”

His mom rolls her eyes. “Your dad’s out in the barn, could use some help when you’re home later.”

Liam nods, taking another piece of bacon as his mom, if almost begrudgingly, hands him a plate of egg and toast with some bacon around the edge of it. Liam kisses her cheek, briefly, before he goes to sit at the end of the counter to eat it.

“Might go out tonight, if that’s okay,” Liam says after a few moments.

His mom doesn’t look up where she’s cooking another plate of food, presumably for his dad. “Where are you going?” but what she’s really asking is _are you seeing Harry?_

“Just out. I don’t really know yet,” he says.

“And you’re ready? To go back to school?” she asks, sounding almost hesitant.

“Think so, yeah. Got a few emails from the coaches so I should be ready by next week,” Liam tells her, ignoring the slight pang in his chest.

“That’s good, then,” his mom says, leaning over to kiss the top of his head before starting the coffee maker.

He eats quickly, now nearly running late before he goes to take his phone and wallet — not needing a jacket because it’s so fucking hot outside as he takes his keys from by the front door. He says goodbye to his mom, his dad nowhere in sight and Nicola probably not getting up for a little while yet as he goes out to his truck.

 _Whaaaaaat are you evn sayinggg?_ he sends to Louis, starting the engine and pulling out of the driveway.

Maybe, Liam thinks to himself as he tries his best to ignore the almost near stifling heat outside while driving down the road, he can’t tell Louis because he doesn’t have a fucking clue what’s going on between him and Harry, either. 

 

Work is slow, to say the least. He mostly does a lot of stocking throughout the morning, as per usual, so that’s nothing out of the ordinary. The job is mostly between him and this other guy during the summer, covering for the usual people who are gone on vacations. And it’s fine, Liam doesn’t mind it all that much — just usually finds himself growing more and more tired the more his shift goes on.

He’s putting away canned pea’s, of all things, when there’s a cough behind him.

Liam turns, seeing none other than Harry at the end of the aisle. He’s got that lopsided, ridiculous grin on his face — wearing his usual tight jeans and decidedly going for a tank top, apparently the heat only just now getting to him.

“Hi,” Liam says dumbly, unable to think of anything else to say. His mouth feels dry, suddenly, as he awkwardly scratches the back of his neck.

Harry doesn’t seem to notice. Or, if he does, doesn’t really seem to care as he approaches Liam — a piece of paper in his hand. “My mother sent me to get groceries. And I cannot, for the life of me, seem to find where the rutabagas are,” Harry says in his usual, slow drawl. It makes his accent more prominent, Liam thinks. He secretly likes it. “Can you possibly help me —” he glances to Liam’s cheek, eyeing his name tag with the same grin. “Liam?”

Liam’s cheeks feel hot in this very air conditioned building, putting the last of the cans in the box onto the shelf. He laughs, quietly, “I mean. I’m the one who stocks shelves but, I can try.”

“My hero,” Harry sing-songs ridiculously, looping an arm through Liam’s as they start towards the produce section.

It’s slow today, not that many people in the store as Liam walks with Harry. Though Harry, seemingly knowing better, doesn’t wrap his hand around Liam’s — though he has a feeling as though they both wouldn’t mind that so much.

“To be honest, though, like —” Liam pauses, licking his lips as they stop in front of a display of lettuce, of all things. “I’m not even sure what a rutabagas is.”

Harry laughs — the sound light and carefree as he shrugs, seemingly not all that bothered by Liam’s sudden confession. “I mean,” Harry starts, tugging on Liam’s hand, gently. “They’re probably not even here, so. It’s sort of a lost cause.”

Liam makes a sound, brows furrowed. “Why did you even come here?”

“My intentions are completely innocent, I swear,” Harry says, biting down on the corner of his mouth Liam finds himself so badly wanting to kiss. “I just came to check out the guy who stocks things.”

“Doesn’t sound all that innocent, then,” Liam mumbles, Harry’s thumb now pressing into his palm gently.

“You’re probably right,” Harry says. “I came here solely for the purpose of checking him out.”

“ _Jesus_ ,” Liam says, smiling widely now. “He should probably get back to work, though. Gina only lets him slack off for so long before she starts to complain.”

“Wouldn’t want to piss Gina off,” Harry says, leaning forward so he’s crowding in Liam’s space once again. “I’ll see you later then?”

“I mean, if you don’t run off with the stock boy then sure,” Liam says, feigning jealousy that only makes Harry look delighted with.

“I make no promises,” Harry says, hand placed ridiculously over his heart. And, with a final pat of the hand to Liam’s butt, continues on his way. 

Liam might be a little in over his head, but he’ll never admit it. 

 

At the end of his shift Liam soon finds himself bombarded by Louis, of all people. It’s not like he’s subtle about it, because when has Louis ever been subtle about anything, really, Liam thinks to himself as he approaches him.

“Alright, so here’s the deal,” Louis starts. He’s sitting in the back of Liam’s truck — feet hanging over the edge. “I’m kidnapping you.”

Liam blinks. “You don’t have your mom’s car,” he observes.

Louis sighs, loudly, reaching over to pinch Liam’s nipple. “Technically, you’re kidnapping me, but whatever. Get in the damn truck, Payno.”

“Bossy,” Liam comments. Louis doesn’t say anything — just flicks at his ear annoyingly as they get into the front seat. 

“Just drive,” Louis barks, obnoxiously crossing his feet over the dashboard of the car as Liam doesn’t argue, just does as he’s told.

After being friends with Louis for so long he’s learned the hard way not to argue with him on things such as this. And, Louis doesn’t continue to be a pain — just directs Liam to where he wants to go; which is their local bakery, of all places.

“Have to pick the cake for the twins’ birthday,” Louis explains, getting out of the car as Liam follows.

There’s a half hour wait, apparently, they soon find out when they approach the front counter. Louis tells them it’s no trouble, moving to sit at one of the small tables in the sitting area as Liam follows behind him.

“You didn’t take me here just to pick up a cake,” is the first thing Liam says. 

Louis is quiet for a few moments, inspecting his nails before he says anything in response. “I mean, if there’s something you wanted too, you know, talk about.” He makes some strange gestures with his hands Liam doesn’t quite follow. “Now would be the time to talk about it. If you, you know. Wanted too.”

Liam rubs a hand along his face, feeling tired and a little worn out before he looks back over at Louis again. He knows his silence is telling, knows that Louis already has a pretty good idea of what’s going on, it’s just.

He doesn’t know how to stay. Isn’t sure how to form words about it. Or, form words about Harry, more like.

“Harry is.” Liam stops. Louis waits patiently for him to continue. “You know.” 

Louis raises his eyebrows, clearly unimpressed with Liam’s attempt thus far. “I don’t know, actually,” he says flatly. “That was kind of the point of this whole — ordeal.”

“You kiss your friends, right?” Liam asks, because nothing else really comes to mind on what to say. Louis abruptly chokes on his coffee in response. 

“I don’t. _What_?” Louis asks, nearly sputtering all over himself.

“Well, like. We’ve been. Kissing.” Liam groans into his hands. “That’s normal, isn’t it?”

Louis makes a face where Liam can see through the fingers still over his eyes. “I mean. Niall did kiss me that one time, on a dare.”

“Just once?” Liam asks.

“Yeah. He wasn’t bad, as far as kissing goes. Was a true gentlemen about it, didn’t even try to shove his tongue down my throat or anything,” Louis continues.

“Probably too much information,” Liam says, holding up a hand.

“You asked,” Louis says and, fair enough. 

“It’s like. We’re friends,” Liam explains. 

Louis just stares at Liam blankly. “Think you might be a bit more than that,” he points out.

Liam’s got his hands wrung together in his lap, feeling oddly guilty as he shifts in his chair. There’s a number of people moving around in the back, Liam watching them for a few moments before he finally says anything.

“What if he doesn’t feel that way about me,” Liam asks, though it mostly feels rhetorical at this rate.

“Payne, I’ve been friends with Harry since I was six years old. And I think it’s safe to say I know him pretty damn well,” Louis says, tapping a finger against the top of the table. “The one thing I do know is that he doesn’t ever front what he’s feeling. He makes himself pretty obvious on that one. And this — whatever weird, unnamed thing is going on between you two, isn’t an exception to that.”

“I think we just need time. To figure out what we’re doing,” Liam says, sounding somehow decided on the subject.

“And while that’s all well and good —” Louis starts. Liam braces himself for the inevitable ‘but’ that’s coming. “I think you two need to figure it out before you go back to school.”

“What are you, a love expert now?” Liam asks, Louis not so subtly flipping him off in response.

“I’m just saying,” Louis says defensively. 

Liam opens his mouth to say something, not saying anything as someone leans over the counter to tell Louis his order is ready. They get the box, making their way back out to Liam’s truck as Louis puts the box into the back seat. 

“I need a ride to Niall’s,” Louis says.

Liam rolls his eyes, pulling out onto the road. “What am I, your driver?”

“Not getting a tip anymore,” Louis says, but he’s grinning as Liam gives him a quick glance. 

They drive in silence for a bit, Liam gripping the steering wheel as he pulls onto Niall’s street. “Sure this’ll be safe there?” Liam asks.

“If not Niall’s going to be paying severely for it,” Louis says simply, the truck pulling into his driveway.

It’s a few moments until Niall walks out the front door, Zayn’s arm unsurprisingly around his waist as they walk towards them.

“For me? You shouldn’t have,” Niall says, motioning to the overly large box in Louis’ arms.

“Not for you, so don’t go getting any idea’s,” Louis immediately chastises, Zayn smiling against Niall’s shoulder.

“You staying Payno?” Niall asks, now looking at Liam. 

Liam shakes his head, seeing Niall frown in response. “I have to go meet someone,” he says, Louis eyeing him not so subtly from beside him.

“Remember what we talked about,” Louis says. Zayn pauses, giving them a confused look.

“Are you keeping secrets from us now?” he asks, staring pointedly at Liam.

“What, no,” Liam’s quick to say. “Just — we talked about stuff.”

“Stuff,” Niall repeats, clearly not convinced.

“Not important stuff,” Louis adds, waving a hand around. “Stop being paranoid, you two. Maybe if you stopped fucking like rabbits for five minutes we’d be more inclined to tell you stuff —”

“Oh fuck off, like that has anything to do with it —” Niall snaps.

“So you admit you fuck like rabbits?” Louis asks, giving a toothful smile.

Zayn doesn’t say anything on the subject, instead jabbing a finger into Louis’ cheek as he sighs. 

“You sure you want to miss out on all this?” Zayn asks, voice low so only Liam can hear him as Louis and Niall continue to bicker with one another. 

“Can just come with me, if you want,” Liam offers, holding up his keys.

“Might take you up on that,” Zayn replies.

“Malik, get your ass over here before I deck your idiot boyfriend —” Louis’ voice comes. Liam winces.

“Lay off Louis, you fuck head,” Zayn says, sounding hardly worried for Niall’s safety before he looks back at Liam. (“Fuck you, Louis,” Niall spits. “You fucking _wish_ , Horan,” Louis snaps in response. Liam’s not sure who’s going to break first.) “We’ll see you this weekend, right? Before you go?”

Before you go. The words repeat in Liam’s head, making him frown a little before he nods. “Yeah, this weekend. Right.”

Zayn smiles, clasping Liam’s shoulder briefly. “Duty calls. Gotta go babysit,” he teases, Liam laughing a little.

He gets back into his truck, Louis so fondly flipping Liam off — Niall and Zayn waving as he checks his phone.

_Hey, stud. Meet me at the field in about twenty minutes? xx_

Liam feels almost giddy as he types out a response. _Cyaaaaa then :)_ before he starts the truck.

 

The lights are on when Liam gets there. He can see them clearly from the parking lot, bright and familiar, as he gets out.

He takes his time walking, hands in his pockets before he steps out onto the field. It’s been a while since he was last here with the other four boys, can still distantly hear their yells as he kicks at some of the grass.

“Decided to come, did you?” Harry’s voice echoes.

Liam smiles as he sees Harry standing in center field — holding a football in his hands. “What is this, a closed practice?” Liam asks.

“Something like that,” Harry says. 

He looks nervous, something Liam isn’t used to seeing when it comes to Harry, standing there and watching him. 

“Gonna tell me why we’re here?” Liam presses.

“Patience, Liam,” Harry says. He throws the ball toward him. No form to it, just lets it go up into the air. Liam takes a few steps forward, catching it in his arms easily.

“You’re the one who called me out here all mysterious like,” Liam says. Harry laughs, the sound brighter than any of the lights on, before he looks back at Liam again. Neither of them closes the space between them, but Liam finds himself wishing one of them would.

“Glad you noticed I was trying to be mysterious. It’s why I keep you around, Payne,” Harry says.

Liam throws the ball back to Harry, who catches it easily. Reminds Liam of practices — when him and Harry used to team up, as always, Niall calling them the “predictable duo”. Not that either of them argued with Niall, in the end.

Harry’s hair is still long — parted so some of it comes to fall over his forehead, curling at the ends and it takes every ounce of Liam’s self control to not reach out and run his fingers through it. Instead, he listens when Harry talks again.

“You remember, our first last game of our last season here?” Harry asks.

“Course I do. Luke nearly threw up all over us,” Liam says. 

Harry rolls his eyes. “Do you remember what you told me? Before we went onto the pitch?”

Liam does remember. He remembers being nervous, but also not — because it was the last first game he was ever going to have here, at this school. He remembers coaches talk before the game — can recall how real and tangible the nerves had been, through all the players. But Liam knew they could do it. Has always believed in them.

“Why don’t you remind me,” Liam says. He takes a step toward Harry.

“Well —” Harry begins, dimples pressed into his cheeks. “You told me that no matter what happens out there, on that field, that you were going to be around no matter what.”

“Very eloquent of me,” Liam comments.

“Surprisingly so,” Harry agrees. They take another step toward one another, and another. Soon Liam finds himself holding up his hand — Harry mirroring him as they press their palms together. “And you said — you said that, no matter what, we’d always have each other’s backs. You remember that?”

Liam swallows, but nods, mouth suddenly feeling dry. Harry’s playing with his fingers, gentle and warm and everything that makes Liam’s heart beat harder in his chest. “I do, yeah.”

“I just. I wanted you to know that that still stands. For us, I mean. I’m still here. And I know I’m going back to school — in fucking North Carolina, of all places —” Harry’s rambling, but Liam doesn’t stop him. Just presses his forehead against Harry’s, who keeps talking. “But I think, despite that, we can be there. For each other. I mean, still. We can still be there for each other.”

Liam grips Harry’s hand a little tighter, and he feels Harry do the same thing in response. There’s a moment — one where both of them go quiet, Harry looking at Liam with his usual, wide eyes, that Liam wants to badly to say. To tell him how he feels, to tell Harry he can’t stop fucking thinking about him, that Liam thinks he’s on the edge of being so fucking in love with Harry he doesn’t know if he can stop himself from falling now, but he doesn’t.

Liam just leans forward, and kisses him instead. 

There’s nothing desperate or needy about this kiss. It’s slowly, gentle movements and Harry’s hand coming to cradle the back of Liam’s head — warm and steady that it makes a warmth spread throughout Liam. Maybe he’ll tell Harry one day, maybe he’ll get the courage to do something about the way he feels for him — weighted and real, heavy in Liam’s chest. But for now, he’s just going to kiss him instead. Because, Liam figures, that says more than anything he could hope to say, right now.

“Not going to go anywhere,” Liam says as they pull apart, pressing his lips to Harry’s forehead. “Never going anywhere.”

Harry nods, like he’s being reaffirmed in something he was previously unsure about. He’s got one hand fisted in Liam’s shirt, gripping it carefully as he brushes his nose against Liam’s,. “My mom wants you to come over. Says you’re a vital part of the Styles’ movie night,” Harry says after a moment, voice soft. 

“I think I can do that,” Liam tells him, running the pad of his thumb along Harry’s cheek. “Is there any peach cobbler involved?”

Harry laughs against Liam’s lips, just a careful brushing against them, mumbling, “you’re obsessed, Payne.”

“Can’t help it,” Liam says, shrugging. "Take me or leave me, Styles."

 

Harry hums, considering. "I mean, I guess I'll take you," he tells Liam through a grin.

He can feel the slight stubble on Harry’s cheeks, can feel the softness of his lips under the pad of his thumb as he tries to take it all in — tries to put it all to memory, Harry like this. All soft and sleepy under the bright lights, but so familiar and so much that Liam _wants_.

“What if I said we had cheesecake. Gemma and my mom were baking this afternoon,” Harry says, their chests pressed against one another’s. 

“I guess that’s alright too,” Liam teases lightly.

“We should go. Don’t want to keep them all waiting,” Harry says after a silence passes between them.

Liam doesn’t want to go. Wants to stay on this field for as long as time will allow, for as long as he can have Harry, here, to be his. Can see how long they can stretch out time, and maybe, when he finally can muster the courage — tell Harry how he feels.

“What are we watching?” Liam asks, their hands still connected as they walk back to Liam’s truck.

“Mrs. Doubtfire,” Harry says, knocking his forehead against Liam’s shoulder lightly. “A family favourite.”

“I think it’s everyone’s favourite,” Liam says, and Harry doesn’t argue with him.

 

As always, being at Harry’s house is a very enjoyable night. Liam comes home happy and warm and feeling more relaxed than he has in weeks.

What with Anne’s constantly feeding him, all of Harry’s family piled into the living room of his house. Harry had been nicely tucked into his side, Liam on the end of the couch with Gemma beside him — Anne and Robin on another one entirely. He’d buried his face into Liam’s chest, Liam’s arm loosely around Harry’s shoulders. And it had been nice. Great, even. Almost felt like what it could be like if they — you know. Wanted anything to happen between them.

“Like having you around, Liam,” Anne said as the credits rolled from the movie, Harry nearly half asleep beside Liam now. 

“I guess I can make a habit of it, if you’d like,” Liam said, and Harry made a sound of agreement from beside him, muted where his face was still pressed into Liam’s shirt.

He’d left with a kiss from Harry — tasting cheesecake and butter from the popcorn, but it was enough to get Liam’s head spinning. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Harry said softly, kissing the corner of Liam’s mouth one last time before he’d finally left.

It’s dark as he steps into his house, not noticing the small light on in the living room until he hears his mom’s voice, coming from a chair tucked into the corner of the room. She’s reading, glasses pushed far down her nose. Liam blinks, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

“You’re home late,” she says slowly. It’s not angry; more so observant.

“Sorry,” Liam starts sheepishly. “I was with Harry and his family and I got — carried away, I guess.”

He can see his mom smile, a little, a gentle upturn of her mouth. But there’s something sad to it Liam can see, but can’t quite put his finger on. “How is Harry?” she asks, now closing her book.

“Good,” Liam says. “You didn’t have to wait up for me, though,” he adds after a small pause.

His mom shakes her head, seeming hardly bothered. “And things with Harry are — good?”

“Yeah, you know. We’re hanging out,” Liam says, like this should somehow explain everything.

“I know,” his mom says. “But I’ve seen the way you look at him, Liam.”

Liam takes in a deep breath, leaning against the doorway as he chews the inside of his cheek. “It’s nothing, it’s —” he pauses, unsure of what to say now. “It’s fine.”

His mom is quiet for a few moments, in a thoughtful silence. Or it feels to be that way, how she slowly stands from her chair — moving to turn off the lamp squeezes Liam’s hand, briefly.

“Just don’t want to see you getting hurt,” she says.

“I know,” Liam says.

She doesn’t say anything else, telling him goodnight and walking up the stairs, leaving Liam alone and wondering what the hell he’s going to do now.

 

As per their usual tradition, the five of them all go out drinking before they go back to school. Or as far as traditions go, if they’ve only been doing them for a year or so.

They’re all at Louis’ house, his mom gone for the night and his sisters all out or at their grandparents house, sitting in his backyard.

Harry hasn’t left Liam’s side all night, warm and constant; pressed up against him. He smells like cologne and beer and Liam finds himself gripping his hand every so often, as if to remind himself that he’s still here, for now. 

Niall plays his guitar for a bit, singing loudly and purposefully off-key as Zayn puts his face into his hands, shaking his head. Louis tries to harmonize and it gives Liam a headache, actually. But they keep going, their voices carrying and Liam tries to remember it best he can — when he’s away from them and in his dorm room.

Harry’s laughing beside him, face buried against Liam’s neck where they’re sitting. 

“I think,” Louis starts, pointing his beer bottle towards all of them. “That we shouldn’t go back to school. Just stay here.”

Niall nods, head in Zayn’s lap where they’re sitting in the slightly wet grass. Liam watches Zayn thread his fingers through his bleached hair, slowly, like its the only thing in the world he wants to do right now. “What is there to do,” Harry asks, pointing a wavering finger at Louis.

“You know. We could help Liam’s dad on the farm,” Louis says. Zayn snorts, loudly, causing Niall to startle a little.

“Don’t know if we’d be any good at that,” Niall says.

“Plus, you know, you kind of have to know how to farm,” Liam adds. Louis promptly flips him off.

“I’m sure it’s easy once you get the hang of it,” Louis slurs, crossing his legs underneath himself. “You know, tractors and stuff.”

“More than that,” Liam says, smiling into Harry’s hair. “He did go to school for it though, so.”

“Fuck,” Louis groans. “You have to go school for _everything_.”

“The inevitable truth,” Niall says.

Zayn smiles, Liam only making the outline of it in the dim light before he leans down and presses his lips to Niall’s forehead, saying something to him in a hushed voice as Liam hears Harry make a sound beside him. 

“Hear there’s room at North Carolina still,” he says slowly, fiddling with the sleeve of Liam’s jacket. “What do you say, be a tar heel?”

Liam makes a face. “And leave my crimson tide roots?” he asks, feigning offense. “I look damn good in crimson, Styles.”

Harry grins, but there’s something sad tugging at the corner of his mouth — something Liam doesn’t comment on. Just presses his lips to Harry’s temple and pulls back slowly, before anyone else can really notice.

They continue on — nothing really to their night except a bit more drinking, a few more songs. And sitting on the worn out lawn chairs. But Liam doesn’t mind — doesn’t think he’d want it any other way. It’s how it’s always been with the five of them; easy, nothing forced with the friendships between all of them. Something about it that is so carefree, makes Liam feel like he’ll never find anyone else he can feel like he can completely be himself around.

And that’s what he’s going to miss the most at school. That, and the way Harry smiles against his neck — how soft his hair is, how it curls just at the ends and brings out the green in his eyes somehow more than usual. How slow he talks in the mornings, or how slow he talks when he’s drunk and tired — words coming out almost in slow motion. How his hands are always warm, and always know exactly how to curl around Liam’s — fingers slotting easily into one another.

“So it’s going to be like this from now on?” Niall asks, breaking the silence.

He sits up a little, head against Zayn’s chest as the rest of them look at him curiously. “What do you mean,” Louis asks.

“I mean, like. We’ll go back to school and come here, and then what?” Niall asks. “It’s like. We have this little — family, or something. And, I don’t know. I don’t want us to lose that.”

“We’re going to lose each other, Niall, you idiot,” Louis says, Zayn reaching over to pinch his thigh in response.

“Like you’re getting rid of me that easy,” Harry adds. Liam nods in agreement. 

“We’re not going anywhere, Niall,” Liam promises him. He sees Zayn grip Niall’s waist, gently, almost like an added reassurance.

Niall seems convinced, silently picking at more grass in the Tomlinson’s lawn. “Yeah,” Harry says, “this isn’t just, over.”

Liam knows Harry’s eyes are on him as he says it, can feel himself flushing as he swallows. He grips Harry’s hand, gently, wanting nothing more than to press his lips to the inside of Harry’s wrist — but stops himself.

They end up sleeping in Louis’ living room, the five of them piled on random bits of furniture, ending with Liam and Harry unsurprisingly on the floor beside one another. 

It’s his last night here, in this small town, for a while. Liam isn’t sure how he feels — almost as if the homesickness is starting to build in him, familiar and making a lump grow in his throat. He doesn’t want to stay, but. He kind of does. 

He just wants Harry to _stay_.

“You’ll text me, right?” Liam asks in a moment of weakness, Harry stirring beside him.

“Course,” Harry says. “You’ll see my name pop up on your screen and get so sick of me. Just you wait, Payne.”

Liam shakes his head, laughing into the corner of his pillow. “No I won’t. Shut up,” he says firmly, Harry wrapping his finger around the one Liam’s pointing at him.

“Good to know you won’t, then,” Harry says.

Liam stares at him for a little while, as long as he can let himself — licking his lips and finding the same want curling in his stomach, insistent and what he always gets when it comes to Harry. Just finds himself sitting there and wanting nothing more than to keep him, here, where Liam can reach out and touch him whenever he wants. Which is probably selfish. Probably a lot of things, Liam thinks briefly to himself.

“Going to miss you, you know,” Liam admits, voice just above a whisper.

Harry doesn’t say anything, pressing his thumb to the corner of Liam’s mouth — sweeping across his lower lip in a careful, thoughtful motion.

“Going to miss you more, I think,” Harry says, but there’s nothing challenging about his tone. It just sounds mostly sad.

Liam’s quiet, and Harry doesn’t push him to speak. Instead, Liam focuses on the way Harry’s finger trace along his hand. He isn’t quite sure, but he’s pretty sure he’s tracing an eight and eleven; the eight Liam’s number in high school, and the eleven Harry’s.

Harry’s one person Liam knows he’s never, ever, going to forget.

 

The drive is long to Alabama, but Liam makes it there eventually — and his truck miraculously in one piece by the end of it. It’s a week before school actually starts, everything uncommonly empty as Liam unpacks in his dorm. 

He calls his mom, lets her know he’s there — that he’s got a practice in the morning so he’s probably going to go to bed early. She seems convinced at that, asks him multiple times if he’s okay, and every time Liam tells her that yes, he’s fine. And no, she shouldn't worry.

He leaves out the bit where he almost cried on the way up — not sure what to do with himself because all he could think about is the way Harry had looked when he’d left, soft touches and a small pout that no amount of kisses Liam could take off his features.

Liam should text him. Should check in, see how he’s doing. But instead he looks at his phone, almost glaring at it where he’s sitting at his new desk, debating.

Louis said if they don’t figure out what they’re doing, that maybe this is what they need. A clean break. Time to separate and figure out what they want, and if they are what each other needs.

“I know I’m in trouble when you’re making sense,” Liam said, Louis scoffing at him in response. 

And, Louis might be right. Liam’s not sure. All he knows is that he would much rather be at home — in the small, familiar town, where he doesn’t feel so small and everything feels so big. Where he knows his mom will be waiting for him in the kitchen, where he knows he can wake up to a shift at work and go see his friends later on.

 _U here yet ?_ Niall texts him. Liam hates himself for checking and — possibly hoping — to see a different name flash across his screen. 

_Yeeeeahhhhh. Gunna sleep early, tho :(((( see u before practic ?_ he sends back.

Niall says yeah, he’ll see Liam then, as he locks his screen and crawls into his bed. It’s not even ten, but Liam doesn’t really care all that much. 

Just before he drifts off, he sees a text from a familiar name — enough to make his heart flutter noticeably in his chest.

_Missing you. Sleep well, stud. xx_

 

He falls into a routine easily enough. With class, practice and preparation for games. Also the added stress of his coach breathing constantly down his neck that Liam starts feeling the familiar pressure that comes with playing college football. It’s no small thing, not by any means, and Liam can see Niall’s feeling it too — can tell by the way he’s tense at practice, rigid and focused. Much like Liam is.

They go through the plays, go over drills, do everything Liam knows almost as good as the back of his own hand. 

It’s a little colder out today — the sky overcast as their coach, Byron Green, starts talking to them about their first game. Niall’s beside him, not saying anything as Liam does his best to listen, but just finds himself continually being distracted.

“Payne, you’ll be starting, just like we talked about. Are you still alright with that?” Coach asks, looking pointedly at him.

Liam swallows, then nods. He can’t be nervous because that will throw him off entirely and he needs to be focused.

“You’ve got a long night ahead of you, so I suggest you go sleep,” Coach tells them, motioning to the locker rooms.

None of them argue, picking up their helmets and walking into the crowded change rooms — Niall pressing into Liam’s side.

“Louis and Zayn are coming up for the game,” Niall tells him.

Liam looks at him, briefly, before taking off his jersey. “Thought Louis was opposed to setting foot on our field,” he asks flatly.

Niall snorts, voices echoing in the concrete walls as he says, “said he’d make an exception for you.”

Liam rolls his eyes, smiling a little as he pulls out his towel for the showers. “I’ll tell him you’re thrilled,” Niall adds, shoving at Liam as he pinches his nipple in response.

“Try not to get too distracted by Zayn in the stands, okay?” he says, sidestepping to just miss when Niall snaps his towel at him, nearly hitting Liam’s calf. 

 

He doesn’t intend on calling Harry. In fact, he’s sitting his room — Niall already in his asleep, when Liam dials his number.

It’s a Friday night, and they’ve both got games tomorrow, Liam remembers. But he waits, hearing it ring a grand total of four times before he hears a familiar voice on the other end, “Hello?”

“Shit, did I wake you?” Liam asks as soon as he hears Harry’s voice, rough from what he only knows to be sleep.

“No,” Harry lies. Liam can hear him shifting, and the guilt weighs heavily on him as he takes in a shaky breath. “Was just — resting my eyes, is all.”

“So you were sleeping,” Liam asks flatly.

“Nope,” Harry says, and Liam can so clearly hear his smile in his voice now as he talks. “What’s up, stud? Why are you calling me when you should be asleep? Word on the street is you’ve got a big game tomorrow you gotta rest up for.”

Liam feels the nerves shoot through him, real and nearly crippling as he balls up his fist against his thigh. “Yeah, I guess.”

There’s a pause, and Liam knows that it’s so telling — knows that Harry will probably be able to hear just how nervous he is, in it. “You’re gonna be great, you know,” Harry reassures him after a moment.

Liam swallows. Can feel he’s tense all over — from his shoulders to his chest, his toes curled against the floor of his dorm room. 

“What if I’m not, though?” Liam asks, voice quiet. He feels like he could punch a hole in his wall if he tried.

“You don’t have those really broad shoulders for nothing,” Harry says. Liam pauses, confused, before he continues, “easier to hold up your team that way, you know.”

Liam closes his eyes, feels his nails press into his palm as he exhales. “Would be better if you were here, though.”

“You just want those pre-game massages,” Harry says, laughing quietly.

“I mean, that would help,” Liam admits, running his free hand along the back of his neck. “But it would just — I don’t know.”

Harry hums, thoughtfully, and Liam imagines where he is. Probably in his room, because he was asleep — with his hair a right mess and eyes puffy, rubbing at them incessantly where he’s sitting up against his pillows. 

“You’re going to be great.” Harry says, sounding assured.

Liam picks at the edge of his blanket. “How do you know,” he asks.

The silence that follows feels like years, dragging on and on until Harry talks again, and Liam finds himself gripping his phone a little tighter than usual. “Because I know _you_ ,” Harry says simply. “And I think that once you get out onto that field, you’re going to forget why you were so nervous in the first place. You’re just going to remember why you love this game so much, and why you’re here.”

And, Harry’s right. “You’re right,” Liam tells him, slowly.

“Of course I am,” Harry says, now grinning, if Liam has any sort of knowledge of him to go by.

“Sorry to wake you,” Liam says.

“Nothing to apologize for. Always glad to hear from you,” Harry says, and the sincerity in his voice makes Liam’s chest feel like it’s on the verge of bursting. 

“Alright, well. I should sleep,” Liam says, pausing, “or — we should,” he corrects quickly.

“Yeah, some of us have a game tomorrow,” Harry teases.

And Liam isn’t sure what he wants to say, exactly, but he can feel it on his chest — pressing and insistent with a small sense of urgency. “Thanks, again, Harry.”

“Anything for you, stud,” Harry says. “Sweet dreams of me.”

“Can’t imagine anything else,” Liam says, saying one last goodbye before the call disconnects. 

He looks at his phone for a few minutes before setting it down, pulling back his covers and falling asleep in just a few moments.

 

They win. It’s an easy win, actually, one that Liam can hardly believe. He played well — or, as well as he thinks he did, really, when the game’s over and its all said and done.

As promised, Louis and Zayn are there — sitting in the stands and wearing their school sweaters, no doubt getting glares from all around them as Liam smirked to himself, because of _course_ they did. 

What he remembers the most, though, is the text he got before the game — just as they were about to go out onto the field.

_Good luck out there today, stud. Kick some ass for me alright? xx_

Liam didn’t need anything else, after that. He knew he was going to be fine, and as it turns out, he was. 

“Let’s be real,” Louis says where he’s sitting on Liam’s desk chair, swirling around. “If Zayn and I weren’t here, you would’ve lost.”

Niall rolls his eyes, head in Zayn’s lap on Liam’s bed as Liam, perched on the edge of his desk, glances over at Louis. “Is that so?” he asks, taking a drink of the beer they’d brought with them. Bless Zayn and Louis sometimes, honestly.

“Yeah, you know. Good luck charms, all that,” Louis rambles on, Liam smiling into where he’s got the back of his hand pressed against his lips.

“Sure thing, Lou,” Niall says, looking half asleep where Zayn’s running a constant hand through his hair.

“Don’t be a dick,” Louis says, turning to look over at Liam. “Why are you so quiet, then?” he adds.

“Nothing,” Liam says quickly. “Just tired. Played an entire game, you know.”

Louis scoffs, kicking Liam’s ankle. Liam thinks he knows, can only assume Louis has caught onto it having to do with Harry — but surprisingly, he doesn’t say anything. And after a little more talking they all excuse themselves for bed, Louis staying in Liam’s room — in the unused bed.

Niall and Zayn leave, the door closing behind them as Liam takes out his laptop.

“What, you’re not sleeping?” Louis asks. Liam can see him in the dim lighting of his screen, laying down and staring over at him as Liam shrugs.

“Just — gotta do some catching up,” Liam says.

There’s a few moments where Louis doesn’t say anything, and Liam doesn’t even hear him padding across the floor until he comes into Liam’s bed unannounced.

“What are you —” Liam starts, but Louis smacks his chest.

“Calm down, Payno. We all need a good cuddle every now and then. Even you,” Louis says. Liam doesn’t argue, feeling Louis’ head against his shoulder. “I mean, I’m no Harry, but —”

“Shut up,” Liam cuts him off. Louis grins, now looking at his laptop.

“Knew it,” Louis says.

“Knew _what_ ,” Liam asks, annoyed.

“That you were gonna watch his game,” Louis says, poking a finger into Liam’s side. “You’re so predictable, you know.”

“Shut up,” Liam repeats.

Louis doesn’t say anything, just nestles in against Liam as the game loads. It starts, the plays beginning as Liam takes out his phone.

 _Lookin guuud in that jerseyyyy ;)_ he sends. Beside him, Louis stifles a laugh, but Liam ignores him.

A few moments later, his phone buzzes. _Watching the game to check out my ass? You’re shameless, Payne._

Liam feels his cheeks heat up, tapping out a reply. _Sorrrrrrrrrrry_.

_No need to be sorry. I didn’t say I minded, did I? ;)_

 

“Too many winking faces. What are you guys, twelve years old?” Louis says.

“No one asked you, peanut gallery,” Liam says sharply, flicking Louis’ ear. 

“Just saying. I could give you tips,” Louis says, pouting.

Liam ignores him. _Carefulllll w ur left side Tacklessss. Almost got taken outtttt :(_

_Guess you just gotta come here and protect me. What do you say, stud?_

_Alabamaaaaa is calling youuuuu here_

He gets a bunch of frowning emoji’s in response, Louis nearly asleep beside him as Liam turns down the volume to make sure he doesn’t wake. 

_Think North Carolina would suit you though. Help you build up that stud image._

_Hmmmmm_

He’s on the verge of falling asleep, the game ending and going exactly how Liam had thought it would. They’d won, Harry played great, and the commentators couldn’t stop talking about him. 

_That wasn’t a no, then. :)_

_Gunna fall asleeeeep_

His eyes are getting blurry, Louis now asleep beside him as he closes his laptop, putting it onto the small table beside his bed when Harry sends a reply. _Go to sleep, sleepy head. I’ll talk to you later xx_

 _Nite nite_ Liam sends without a second thought, his head awkwardly pressed against the pillow as his eyes close.

 

_a few weeks later…_

It starts off slowly, the disconnect. They’re busy, Liam knows that — the practices get long and the assignments get more intense. He knows the gap between Alabama and North Carolina is big, it’s just never — felt it be quite this big before.

He doesn’t even know what they’re doing anymore. Before it was weirdly obvious, just from looking at Harry, what he wanted. But now, Liam’s not so sure — finds himself wondering before he sends a text or likes a picture on Instagram if he should even bother anymore.

Louis tells him he’s over thinking it. Niall assures Liam that Harry’s just busy, that’s all, and that he of all people should understand that. 

‘ _@HarryStyles: Just taking a stroll with a paaaaaaal. Hiya, @taylorswift13_ ’ Liam reads as he scrolls through Instagram after practice one night, not writing a paper and finding himself missing Harry instead.

He bites his lower lip, pausing, as he examines the image. She’s got blonde hair, cut to her shoulders with bangs — red lips and smiling brightly into Harry’s camera. The sky's grey and leaves scattered around them on the ground. Liam doesn’t like it. Just finds himself staring at it a little while longer, because while Taylor’s looking at the camera — Harry’s looking at her. And that’s not the worst part, maybe. The worst part is, Liam knows that look. Has seen it before — but only when Harry had been looking at him, from the passengers seat in his truck. The recognition of it makes his stomach turn uncomfortably, prompting him to nearly throw his phone across his room in some fit of rage he can’t quite gotten a grasp on yet.

He said pal, Liam reminds himself, with whatever part of his brain is still thinking calm, rational thoughts. They don’t look like pals, the other side of himself thinks bitterly, as he swallows a rather insistent lump in his throat.

He remembers kisses on hot, sticky August nights. He remembers Harry’s grip on his waist, warm and his hands nearly spanning the entire space of Liam’s lower back. Remembers how he always tasted like something sweet — lips always this shade of red Liam’s put to memory. Knows how Harry’s hair tickled his face every time he would lean in for an unexpected kiss — especially that one afternoon he came over when Liam’s family was gone and practically tackled him in Liam’s parents’ kitchen.

Liam runs a hand along his face, leaving his phone on his bed as he starts pacing his room. He’s got a game tomorrow night — against one of their biggest rivals, no less, so he should be sleeping. But he can’t shake this weird sense of betrayal, gripping firmly at his chest, as he refuses to go anywhere near his phone. 

That is, until it rings.

He reaches for it with a lot more speed than he’d expected, hitting the answer button and not even bothering to look at the name.

“Hello?” he answers, breathless.

“Liam?” It’s Zayn. 

“Hi, yeah, it’s me,” Liam tells him, fidgeting with the collar of his shirt. “Everything alright?”

“Good,” Zayn says slowly. “Are you — alright?”

“Fine,” Liam says quickly. “Just got in from a run.”

There’s a small pause. Then, “at almost eleven at night?” Zayn asks skeptically.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Liam lies. 

Zayn, to his credit as a good friend, doesn’t push Liam to talk. “Alright, well. I’m just making sure you’re still okay with me staying in your room tomorrow night for our anniversary, or whatever. Because Niall still has no idea I’m coming.”

“Yeah, of course,” Liam says. “It’s all ready to go, so, you’re all set.”

Zayn hums in response before he asks, “and you’re — sure you’re alright?”

Liam debates telling Zayn, then, if only he doesn’t know where he’d even begin. “No, just tired. Got a game tomorrow, so I should sleep,” he answers.

“Sure,” Zayn says, and if he’s not fully convinced — he doesn’t say it. “I’ll text you before I get there, okay?”

“Sounds good,” Liam says, them saying goodbye before he hangs up — crawling back into his bed with a sense of defeat.

 _Missing youuuuu .xx_ he gets a text, screen lighting up as Liam puts his phone face down beside him on his bed, not answering and telling himself not to care, not anymore.

 

They win the game. Liam feels the rush of the win — like he’s walking on clouds, hearing Niall laughing loudly beside him — pulling Liam’s head into a headlock. The crowd’s cheering, voices ringing in Liam’s ears — everything hitting him as he pulls Niall close to his side, tries to anchor himself in the grass and this feeling.

There’s something missing — of course their is — but Liam doesn’t focus on it too much, doesn’t let himself stay on that as he follows their team to the changeroom. 

He’s got a text from his mom about the game, another from his dad, and a final, rather urgent one from Louis.

 _congrats on your win. call me as soon as you read this._ followed closely by _i’m serious. don’t shower. call. me. right. now. liam. james. payne._

Liam blinks, hitting the call button as it rings. He’s feeling weirdly nervous now, standing up slowly as he goes to a less occupied space in the change room — wanting nothing more than a shower when Louis finally picks up.

“About fucking time,” he says, voice sharp. “How long is a football game, anyway?”

“You know how long it is,” Liam says flatly. “What’s so urgent I had to call you?”

It’s the silence that follows, that worries Liam. He can hear Louis take in a deep breath, can hear the way his voice shakes, just a little, before he starts talking.

“It’s — about Harry.”

A million and one scenarios run through Liam’s head as soon as Louis says it. Bad ones, scary ones, ones where Liam can’t fix the outcome — “is he okay? Is he alright? What’s going on?”

“Ok, that introduction was possibly a little — ominous. My bad,” Louis says apologetically. “I just. Wanted to let you know that that girl Harry’s been posting pictures with a lot? You know, the blonde one?”

“Taylor, yeah,” Liam says slowly, leaning his forehead against the wall. 

“Alright, stalker,” Louis says. When he talks again, his voice is softer, but what he says still manages to hit Liam hard. “He’s um — well he’s officially dating her now, I guess.”

Liam gets a bad taste in his mouth, can feel his fist clenching at his side — toes curling in his shoes as he tries to remind himself to breathe. 

When he doesn’t say anything, Louis keeps talking. “I know you won’t be home for thanksgiving, because of practice — but Harry really wants me to visit, and I guess he wants me to meet her. And I just — I don’t know. I wanted to make sure you were okay, before I went. And if you don’t want me too, I won’t go. Harry can suck it up and get his own turkey dinner. Order in, or something.”

“You two always do turkey dinner,” Liam reminds him, rubbing one of his eyes with the heel of his hand. He’s still in his full uniform, sweating and with this continuing sinking feeling in his chest. “It’s your best friend tradition, or something.”

“Yes, well. You’re right. However, if you don’t want me too — I won’t.”

Liam imagines, then, if he says Louis shouldn’t go. That he selfishly wants Louis here, with him, so he can be miserable with someone into his usual bowl of ramen and watching football highlights on the television. 

“No, it’s fine. If he’s happy then it’s fine,” Liam says. He’s lying, but he knows Louis won’t push him after he’s said it. “You go, it’s not a big thing.”

“Liam —” Louis starts, but Liam doesn’t let him continue.

“I gotta go — get changed and all that, before the hot water runs out,” Liam says, wanting nothing more than to get off the fucking phone. “But thanks for telling me… you know.”

“Yeah, well. All part of my civic duty,” Louis says, voice still soft and sounding more than a bit concerned. “Li, are you sure you’re okay? It’s only an hour away, I can come over and —”

“It’s fine, Lou. Honest,” Liam reassures him, biting down on his lower lip so hard he’s sure it’s going to bleed.

Louis doesn’t say anything else, and Liam hangs up the phone — doing his best to all but throw his phone against a wall. He gets his things for the showers — towel over his shoulder and trying to calm himself the fuck down as he turns on one of the spouts. 

He’s not going to think about it. He’s going to shower, then he’s going to go home, and he’s going to sleep.

 

Her name is Sophia.

Liam meets her at a party over the thanksgiving weekend, being practically dragged by Zayn and Niall, who both insist he needs a “night out on the town to forget his troubles”. He doesn’t need to be babysat, or anything, so Liam only goes because he can’t bear to sit in his room and eat ramen noodles while watching One Tree Hill, of all things.

So he goes, if only for the promise of free beer, as they pile into Niall’s car.

Harry had Instagrammed earlier that day, a selfie of him and Louis in the courtyard of his school, Liam assumes, judging by the fallen leaves scattered everywhere around them. _@HarryStyles: Best Fraaaand_ he’d captioned it, unsurprisingly. Louis commented _stop embarrassing me_ underneath it, predictably. But Liam doesn’t care, won’t let himself as they pull up in front of a house Liam doesn’t know.

Apparently they’re a friend of Niall’s roommate, Bressie, who Liam’s only met a handful of times. It’s crowded, is the first thing Liam thinks, pressing into a number of bodies. The music is loud and pounding in his ears as he tries to keep up with Niall and Zayn.

He gets a beer, twisting off the cap. Niall’s talking to Bressie — Zayn smirking at Liam as he makes his way across the room. It’s starting to get colder out now, the nights feeling longer — more drawn out, Liam thinks, as he takes a sip. He isn’t going to drink a lot, considering it’s in the middle of the season, as he leans against the wall.

A few members of the team are here — Liam talking to them for a few minutes where they’re situated in one corner of the room. Not that he minds, he’s glad to have some familiar faces where Niall is going to play beer pong, tugging Zayn gently along by the waist as they go into the next room.

After a while, though, Liam feels a bit closed in. The entire space now stuffy and stifling as he excuses himself, briefly, stepping out into the backyard through one of the sliding doors. Makes him miss home, fall does, with all the fallen leaves that make him think of his home, back with his parents. When he’d be forced to do the leaves, Nicola always coming and ruining his piles — jumping in them and tossing leaves everywhere. He’d come inside to his mother’s freshly baked pumpkin cookies, Liam’s not-so-secret favourite, still warm to the touch.

Harry would come over, usually, and steal a few to take home. Louis would no doubt take some for himself, or steal whatever stash Harry’s got in his room. They’re a big favourite, apparently, and Liam would give anything to be back home, with them.

His mother would make him drink pumpkin tea, which Liam hates, but has never had the heart to tell her that. Just drinks it whenever she puts it in front of him while she puts up her usual decorations along the house. 

He’s taken from his thoughts, however, when there’s a voice from across the backyard. Liam soon registers there’s a pool, and can make out a figure where it’s swaying over the edge — laughing loudly and looking very drunk. Very drunk and probably not suited for a swim, Liam thinks, as he approaches now.

“Hi,” Liam starts dumbly. “I don’t think you want to go for a swim, right now.”

The girl, with blonde hair and makeup streaked along her face, looks over at him with an amused expression on her face as she blinks. “I know you,” she says, poking a finger into Liam’s chest. “How — do I know you?”

She’s slurring, words hardly coming out coherent before she pokes Liam’s cheek next. “I’m Liam,” he introduces, reaching out and steadying her elbow so he doesn’t lose her to the water in front of them. 

“Liam,” she repeats thoughtfully, tapping his chin as she talks. “Do you play like, sports, or something?”

Liam nods, tensing as she sways forward again — dangerously close to the the water. “I’m on the football team,” he says.

She lets out a noise, loud and delighted. Liam holds back a wince. “You’re the really important one, right? In all the papers and stuff,” she says, oblivious to how close she is to toppling into the water head first.

“Yeah, I guess —” Liam starts, but then there’s another voice behind him.

“Kelsey, what are you _doing_ —” Who looks to be one of her friends is saying, giving Liam an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry, she’s my friend. And as you can probably tell very, very drunk.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Liam assures her, rather taken with the way her long, dark hair frames her face as she gives him a small smile.

“I’m Sophia,” she introduces while coaxing her friend, Kelsey apparently, to take a step back onto firm ground. “And this is Kelsey. We’re going now, don’t worry.”

She’s flustered, Sophia is. Liam can tell even in the dim lighting — and he finds himself a little endeared by it as he shrugs. “It’s fine,” he says, waving a hand. 

“Right, well. To save us from further embarrassment, we are going to go,” Sophia continues. “It was nice to meet you, Liam.”

“Liam the football player,” Kelsey adds, leaning against Sophia’s side. “Doesn’t he look like a football player, Soph? I think he looks like one.”

Sophia makes a quiet sound, rolling her eyes as she gives Liam another small smile. “Leaving, now,” she says, steering her friend toward the door.

And, a few hours later, when Liam’s ready to go — Niall gives him a knowing look, wiggling his eyebrows ridiculously where Liam can see them from the rearview mirror.

“What is it, then,” Liam asks him from the driver’s seat of Niall’s car.

“Who was that girl? By the pool?” Niall asks, wiggling a finger at Liam drunkenly.

“No one,” Liam says, keeping his eyes on the road.

Niall giggles, face pressed against Zayn’s arm where they’re sitting in the back seat. “Didn’t look like no one,” he argues. Liam doesn’t deny it. 

 

He doesn’t see Sophia until a few weeks later, at a game. Liam’s not really paying attention — eyes scanning the crowd, until he spots her. He pauses, eyes staying on her, before he’s brought back into reality — a play being called, and he doesn’t have the time to look again.

But he sees her after, is the thing. He remembers her name, but Sophia assures him it’s fine — that she hoped he would remember her name, which Liam isn’t sure how to take. He takes it as a good sign, if anything, because she touches his arm more than once, according to Louis is a “very good sign”. Also the fact that she laughed at Liam’s jokes, which are on a whole, not funny.

Which is why, before she goes, he finds himself blurting out the ridiculous question of if she’d like to go out with him, sometime, maybe. And, by some weird twist of fate, she said yes.

“So what, you’re taking her on a date? Where is there to even go on a date in Alabama?” Louis asks when Liam calls him later.

“We have places to go, you know,” Liam tells him defensively. “It’s not like all social events happen on a football field.”

“Could’ve fooled me…” Louis trails off. Liam snorts in response, falling back onto his bed with a long sigh. 

“How was your visit?” Liam asks, closing his eyes — like this is going to somehow going to make it easier to hear Louis’ response. 

“It was good, you know. The usual, standard trip,” Louis says.

Liam pauses, rolling his eyes as he runs a hand through his hair. “You can tell me about it, you know. I’m a big boy I can take it.”

“Big boy Payno,” Louis teases, and if he were here Liam would no doubt smack him. Liam’s about to threaten to hang up on him before he talks again. “It was — you know it was nice. He showed me around, I went to a game and some practices. Nothing really out of the ordinary.”

Liam swallows. “And — Taylor? How was she?”

Louis sounds more apprehensive as he talks now, almost as if he’s unsure he should even be saying anything. “She was great, actually. Very sweet. She came over to Harry’s and we baked and watched a movie.”

“Is he happy?” Liam asks.

“Seems like it, yeah,” Louis answers honestly.

Liam rolls a pencil absently through his fingers, not really focusing on it as he exhales, slowly. “Right, well. Guess I can ask him in a few weeks over Christmas,” he says finally.

“Sound more enthused please, I can’t take your excitement from here. It’s — overwhelming, truly,” Louis deadpans when there’s a knock on Liam’s door.

“Thanks,” Liam says, not bothering to comment on Louis’ sarcasm as he stands up to get the door. “Niall’s here, though, so I should go.”

“Hang up on account of _Niall_ being over?” Louis scoffs. “Seems I’ve been replaced.”

Liam smiles, a little, cradling his phone to his shoulder as he ushers Niall into his room. “I’ll talk to you sometime soon, I’m sure. Probably the next time you go shopping for laundry detergent and aren’t sure which brand you’re allergic too,” Liam says.

Louis makes a muted, frustrated sigh. “Will you ever let things go, Payne, that was only one fucking time —”

“Bye, Louis,” Liam says fondly before he hangs up, glancing over to where Niall’s made himself rather comfortable on his bed. “Can I — help you?”

“Just came to see how you were holding up,” Niall says simply, laying against Liam’s pillows with his hands behind his neck.

“Or to see if I had any food,” Liam says, flicking his ear. “The answer is no, by the way. You and Zayn ate it all last weekend when he was here.”

Niall snorts, flipping over onto his side. “That’s why Louis is calling and checking on you every other day? Because you’re fine?”

Liam sits on the edge of his bed, running a hand through his hair. “Stop that,” is the only thing he can think of saying, Niall giving him a confused look.

“Stop what,” he asks.

There’s some voices outside, passing by his door before Liam speaks again, though he knows they can’t hear him anyway. “Being so observant,” he tells Niall.

The other boy laughs, poking a finger into Liam’s arm thoughtfully before he says anything. “We can just — I don’t know, play Fifa, if you want,” Niall suggests. 

Liam nods, Niall not pushing him any more as he reaches for a couple of controllers — handing one to Liam and keeping one for himself. 

 

He takes Sophia to dinner and a movie; safe, reasonably cheap, and only slight predictable. Liam picks Sophia up at six thirty from her house, a sorority of some kind he doesn’t know — leading her out to his truck as she smiles nervously at him, pushing some of her hair from her face.

“So this is your truck?” she asks as they get in, Liam turning the key to start the engine.

“Yeah I um — it was dads, sitting in our garage for years. So my friends back home helped me build it when we were in high school,” Liam explains.

“Really?” Sophia asks, sounding impressed.

“It’s on the verge of falling apart though, so I can’t say it was made with the best quality,” Liam adds.

Sophia laughs, quietly, the sound enjoyable to Liam where he’s sitting. “Comforting, thank you,” she says dryly.

They talk about school for the rest of the way to the movie — what their majors are. Sophia’s is business and economics, with dreams of running her own business in the future, while Liam’s with his chemical engineering.

“Football seems like a full time job though, isn’t it?” Sophia asks where they’re standing in line to get popcorn.

Liam shrugs, placing his order as he leans against the counter. “I mean, kind of? You just need to sort of —” He raises his hands, balancing them out, “find a good medium for each.”

Sophia smiles again, shaking her head as she takes a few pieces of popcorn from Liam’s bag. “You’re good though. My dad is a big fan,” she says.

They make their way toward the theatre, Liam pausing as he glances to her. “He is?” he asks, a little surprised at her statement.

Sophia rolls her eyes, gently shoving at Liam’s shoulders playfully. “Don’t act all innocent. Everyone knows you’re going to be a professional football player one day, Liam Payne.”

Liam can feel himself blush, cheeks heating up as he laughs — soft and a little forced. “I mean, that would be nice and all,” he says, pausing as they try to find a good pair of seats. “You can’t just depend on that, I guess.”

Sophia’s look at him now, quiet and thoughtful as they sit down in the slightly crowded theatre. “It’s kind of funny, though,” she says, fingers lingering on Liam’s arm after she’s reached for some popcorn. “The one’s with the most talent never think they’re going to go anywhere.”

Liam presses his lips together, not saying anything as he instead turns his palm upwards, intertwining their fingers as the lights dim — the movie starting as he grips once, gently. Sophia responds in likeness, gripping back, but Liam finds himself realizing it’s not the same — could never be the same. Not when Harry’s hand was so much bigger than his, warm and encompassing and familiar. But Liam doesn’t think about it more, just leans back in his seat and focuses on the movie.

 _Helppp meeeeee_ he sounds Louis after the movie, only in a mild panic as they make their way to the restaurant. 

_you’re on a date, put your phone away and LEARN SOME MANNERS_ Louis replies. Moments after they’re seated Sophia excuses herself to the washroom, Liam sitting at their table as he waits.

_Shes in teh bathrooooom :(_

_alright, alright, alright. what is it i’m very busy right now. almost done breaking bad._

_I missssss harry_

He sees the typing bubble appear, then disappear, then reappear again like a big terrible cycle Liam has to sit impatiently through until he finally gets a reply. 

_you’re on a date with sophia, liam, they’re not so easy to confuse. two separate people._

_:(_ Liam sends back, because he can’t think of anything else.

_shit, liam, really? you decide that harry’s the one for you while you’re on a date?_

_Idkkkkk_

_okay, well. see how the date goes and if you need -- i don’t know, help or something text me?_

_Ok I willll_

/ _love you. it’s gonna be ok_

And, for a few moments, Liam believes Louis. Until Sophia is back and smiling and so, so wonderful that Liam wonders how on earth he’s still so stuck on Harry.

Dinner is nice. Lovely, even, and Liam, despite himself, finds he’s enjoyed the evening as he drops her back off at her house. It’s a quick goodbye — a promise of texting him sometime soon and a kiss on the cheek before Sophia goes through the front door, and. Liam’s alone again.

Halfway home on the highway, however, his phone starts buzzing from the front seat. Liam briefly checks, assuming it’s Louis, until he sees another name on the screen. He pulls off onto the shoulder, abrupt and reckless and hits the answer button.

“Hello?”

“Heyyyyy stud,” he hears a voice on the other line.

Liam leans his forehead against the steering wheel, reminding himself just how fucked over he is before he responds. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

Harry hums, and Liam can picture the grin on his face now. “A little. Not a lot, though.”

“Kind of sounds like a lot,” Liam says. He hears Harry giggle on the other line.

“Why don’t you text me anymore, Liam?”

The question is so soon Liam wasn’t expecting it. Neither was he expecting the real, almost harsh honesty in Harry’s voice as he winces, eyes closed and tries to focus on something else.

“I just — you’re busy. Very busy guy, that Harry Styles,” Liam lies. “Don’t want to waste any of your time, you know.”

There’s a pause. Harry sounds a little hurt as he says, “you never waste my time, Liam, you know that. Or, I hope you know that,” in a quiet, sad sort of voice.

Liam inhales sharply, gripping his phone. “Miss you, though.”

“Watched your game last weekend,” Harry says. “When you did that left side tackle, you remember?”

Liam remembers. Remembers Niall calling the play, remembers moving with quick feet to take out number fourteen — who was just about take Niall out, Liam grabbing him by the waist and taking him down easily. “Yeah, I do,” he says, chewing the inside of his cheek and feeling weirdly nervous.

“I was at home, alone, and I thought to myself, I know that guy. And he’s going to be a famous football player one day. How crazy is that?” Harry’s words are slurring together, but the loud distracting sounds that used to be behind him are gone — and Liam wonders if Harry’s stepped outside, and if he brought a jacket. Liam hopes he brought a jacket.

“Harry — don’t,” Liam tells him, because it’s too much for him to hear, right now.

“Even if you don’t want to believe you’re going to do great things, then I’m going to believe them for you,” Harry says firmly, like he’s already made up his mind on the subject.

Liam wants to make some sort of joke in return. Say that he’ll make sure Harry gets a signed jersey, one of the first, custom made — but can’t bring himself to do it. “You didn’t say it back,” Liam settles on replying with.

“Say what,” Harry asks, sounding about as nervous as Liam feels.

“That you miss me.”

He wonders where Harry is. If he’s out at some club or bar, or if he’s just at his dorm — or if he’s at a friends house. Liam doesn’t like not knowing where he is. Isn’t sure he’s rather fond of having Harry this far away from him, actually.

“Course I miss you, you idiot,” Harry says. “Why do you think I called you?”

“I don’t know. Because you’re drunk?” Liam says. It sounds like he’s snapping — but maybe that’s his only way of coping to all this, right now.

“I can’t stop fucking thinking about you, Liam,” Harry admits. 

Liam wants to tell Harry. Wants to say hey, I can’t stop thinking about you either — why are we being such fucking idiots about this? But then there’s a voice, muffled behind Harry in the background.

“Harry, babe? Are you coming back in?”

“Yeah, Tay. I’ll be there in a sec,” Harry tells them, and Liam’s sure he feels his entire heart clench at the name.

“I should go. Got to get some sleep,” Liam says quickly.

“Li —” Harry starts, but Liam shakes his head — eyes squeezed shut tighter now in what Liam knows to be defeat.

“Thanks for calling, Harry. I’ll um, I’ll see you over Christmas.”

“Alright,” Harry says. “Bye, Liam.”

He disconnects the call and tries to blink his eyes enough to see the road clearly all the way back to his dorm, hands gripped tight on the steering wheel and reminding himself to breathe.

 

Except, Liam isn’t home for Christmas.

Because as it turns out, they get to the Rosebowl. Liam’s team making it there — though how they made it, Liam will never know. All he does know is that the game is on December twenty-sixth, and it’ll be his first Christmas away from his family.

“I mean, you guys made it because you don’t, you know. Completely suck,” Louis tells him when Liam calls to tell him the news.

“Thanks,” Liam says dryly, untying his shoes in the changeroom. “Still feels a little surreal, though.”

“Yes, well. Don’t forget me when you’re famous alright?” Louis says, half serious.

“Sure,” Liam says. Somewhere beside him he feels Niall tugging at his hair; “is it Louis?” he asks. Liam nods in response. “Niall says hi.”

“Hi, Niall,” Louis says. “Guess I’ll have to come see your two sorry asses playing out on the field, won’t I?”

“Looks like it,” Liam says. “You and Zayn coming back onto enemy territory again. Very brave of you.”

“Don’t think we won’t wear our tiger sweaters,” Louis says, but it sounds more like a threat from where Liam’s sat in an overly crowded change room.

“Tell Zayn he can come naked, if he wants —” Niall’s says as Liam laughs, shoving his face away as he leans back against the lockers. “Ignore Niall,” Liam says.

“Always do,” Louis teases, Niall squawking in protest.

“I’ll text you guys about tickets and stuff later,” Liam says.

“Yeah, yeah. Go be a superstar, or whatever it is you football players do in your spare time. Though mostly I imagine you just grunt at one another,” Louis says, clearly amused with himself.

“I’m hanging up on you now,” Liam says.

“Bye, Liam Payne,” Louis says.

Liam hangs up his phone, putting it in his pocket and not checking it till hours after the fact — after he’s visited Sophia and is sitting his room, unlocking the screen. 

_Good game, stud._ he reads. _Guess I won’t be seeing you over Christmas, then._

He should reply. Liam types out a few responses, deciding to delete all of them as he resolutely puts his phone down beside him. 

 

_'Liam Payne, a big name from a small town._

_When Liam first started out as a freshman in high school, even his coach knew he was going places. “I remember seeing him out there, the first time on the field and thinking to myself, ‘yeah. He’s got the talent.’ And he’s never let me down, not once.”_

_Apparently also holding true to being a team player, Liam has the qualities of any good leader — strong and able, selfless, and having enough strength to hold up his entire team without any complaints._

_It could be said he’s arguably one of the best fullbacks in college football, but then that would mean one would have to argue against him, which they would lose. Voted MVP every year in high school, and well through his college years, Liam Payne is a man who does not disappoint. He’s top in the nation for rushing yards, which is no small feat, in case you were wondering. It’s actually very impressive._

_So the remaining question on everyone’s minds is: what will Liam do in his upcoming years? Because these are the ones that matter, folks. Will he let this talent go to continue his pursuit of studying chemical engineering? Or will be get drafted and leave college ball behind for bigger and better things?_

_Because rumour has it he’s a very wanted man. Being scouted and contacted by a number of teams, all of which Liam has said he needs ‘time to think about it.’ That’s not a direct quote, mind you, but something along those lines. Paraphrased, if you will. But if I know one thing, it’s that in all my years of sports journalism (‘But Greg James,’ you might be asking, ‘how long is that?’ I refuse to say, dear reader. I refuse to say.) I have never, ever, seen someone as driven and motivated as Liam Payne. Should he make his own choices? Yes. Should he make them based on what he wants for his future? Yes. All I’m simply saying is that he’s very talented and that if he were to look into a career that involves throwing a ball around, he’d have a lot of people to back him up with it._

_It’s all in his hands. But we’re all rooting for you, Mr. Liam Payne. And we all have faith that you’ll make the right decision for you, in the end.'_

His mom mails it to him, the magazine. There’s a picture of Liam on the front — the back of his jersey, which is strange to him, seeing himself on something like this. Isn’t sure how to take it.

Louis told him he’s going to have to get used to it, the way his football career is going. But Liam. Liam isn’t so sure, maybe.

The Rosebowl is coming up, and he’s anxious. He doesn’t tell anyone — doesn’t even admit it to Niall when he asks; just keeps it to himself. 

_Properrrrr nervous, feels like :((((_

He puts the magazine down onto his desk, waiting. _Shouldn’t be, Payne. You’re going to be great. xx_

Truthfully, he wasn’t expecting a response. _Feeeeel like Ive got the whle world on my shoulderssss_

_Well, I know you. And I know you’re going to be great. Don’t give up on me now, Payne. Besides, just think. You’ll have someone cheering you on in North Carolina, of all places._

Liam stares at the text for a little while, till the screen fades and goes completely back. He’s left there, unsure and the nerves gripping him tightly as he tries to go to sleep.

 

They win the Rosebowl. Liam can see his mom from the stands. Sees her wiping her eyes and standing beside his dad — Nicola and Ruth alongside them. Can see Louis and Zayn, can feel Niall gripping his shoulders and yelling loudly into his ears and there’s the _rush_ Liam knows so well, has felt a million times, but —

Someone’s missing. Like a big, gaping hole, it’s very there, and very noticeable. But he doesn’t focus on it long, listens to the crowd all the while thinking:

This is a big moment. He should’ve been here.

 

Predictably, him and Sophia break up. It’s not like they were even dating long; just under five months, or something, Liam isn’t quite sure.

They’d done it just outside her house, Liam driving her home after a Rosebowl party. She’d gripped the sides of his jacket, a sad sort of look in her eyes as Liam pressed his thumb against her cheek, swiping along it gently.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, though something already knew the answer inside of him.

Sophia’s eyes had gotten this glassy look to them; tears building. Liam paused, waiting. “I think, maybe, in another world — we would’ve ended up together, you know?”

Liam blinked, unsure. “We’re together right now, aren’t we?” he asked gently.

Sophia just shook her head, voice trembling as she’d spoken again. “I know you love me, Liam. But you’re not — in love with me,” she told him, her hand gripping the wrist where his own was cradling her cheek, holding onto it lightly.

Liam swallowed, pausing, as he tried to think of something to say. “What are you talking about,” he asked.

It was a few moments before she pressed a kiss to the inside of his palm, her lips warm and soft and everything Liam’s come to know about her, these past few months. And that’s worst part about it, maybe. That they could’ve been so great together, could’ve gotten married and done all those things Liam wants so badly, it’s just.

“You’re in love with someone else,” Sophia told him, smiling sadly. 

He couldn’t argue. Couldn’t defend himself, couldn’t even say she was wrong. Instead he’d just leaned forward, pressing his forehead against her’s for a few, quiet moments. He’d gotten both his hands on her cheeks, steadying them as he pressed his lips to her forehead — lingering and wishing he could change something about this, anything.

“I do love you,” Liam said softly, but Sophia had only gripped tighter at his jacket.

“Don’t,” she’d said softly, and that had broken Liam’s heart. 

With her arms around his waist, pulling him close and Liam pressing his lips to the top of her head and wishing he could change this all, somehow. 

“I’m going to miss you,” he tells her truthfully, not taking a step back from her.

“Me too,” she says, breath warm on Liam’s cheek.

And that’s that, apparently.

 

Sometime after that, Liam’s not exactly sure when, but his entire life is somehow made to be entirely consumed by football. He’s made the captain, stays at school all summer for practices, and has meetings once a week with his coach about potentially getting drafted.

It’s all a bit much, if Liam’s honest. 

“How’s coach been?” Niall asks Liam over the phone one night, the windows open and the air conditioning not working as Liam tries to keep himself from melting in his dorm room.

“Stressed,” Liam says, laughing. Niall’s been home for their alloted two-week long summer break; Liam opting out to stay back and ‘do his captains duties’. Or so he’d told Louis when he’d called, demanding why Liam wasn’t coming home with Niall. 

“Sounds like him,” Niall says. 

“How — have you all been?” Liam asks, deciding he’s ready to hear the answer. 

There’s a pause, and Liam imagines Niall’s at his house — sitting on the old front porch with Zayn somewhere inside wearing nothing but a pair of track pants, as is their usual summer attire. 

And Liam misses it, though he’ll never say it. Misses his parents house — misses the hot, summer nights and sitting in the back of his truck. Misses his mother’s lemonade, misses working at the grocery store — as much as he claims he hates it. 

“Good, yeah, you know. The usual stuff,” Niall says finally. 

The usual stuff including drinking in Niall’s backyard, their once a summer beach trip (wherein Harry always gets sunburned and whines about it all the drive back), more drinking, and just generally making a nuisance of themselves when they’re not working. Liam swallows the lump in his throat, tipping his head back and closing his eyes.

“Sounds good,” Liam says. “It’s fucking hot here.”

He hears Niall laughs, the sound muffled when there’s a voice — undoubtedly Zayn. “Not that much different here,” Niall assures him. 

Liam nods, though Niall can’t see it. He tries to think of something else to say, but then Niall’s speaking again — “weird without you here, though.”

“Weird not being there,” Liam says in response.

He feels tense all over, like not one part of himself is relaxed where he’s laying on his bed. “Should go, though. Zayn needs a ride home,” Niall says.

“Of course, yeah,” Liam says. “Tell him I say hi.”

“Will do,” Niall says, and Liam can hear the way he talks slowly — like how it is back home, in the summer. Without a care in the world, feels like. And nothing about that will ever change, even if he’s home or not. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Thanks for calling, Ni,” Liam tells him.

“Anytime, you know that,” Niall says, and he means it.

With their last goodbyes Liam disconnects the call, opening up Instagram and scrolling through. There’s nothing really interesting — the usual pictures of people at the beach, or on vacation. And it’s not until he gets a little way down does one particularly catch Liam’s attention.

It’s the lookout, the one him and Harry went to last summer. It feels like a lifetime ago, Liam thinks, as he looks more closely at it. 

The sky is dark — the only light coming from what looks to be headlights, the city illuminating itself with bright lights, and Liam has to bite his lower lip at how familiar it is. 

_@HarryStyles: Missing you. xx_

And Liam’s not an expert on Harry, not by any means. But he knows who Harry’s talking about, the realization making his throat tighten as he opens a text.

_Immm an idiot, arent I????_

Louis replies moments later, his name popping up on Liam’s screen. _nah. just need time to work it out, you two idiots._

Liam isn’t quite sure what that means, exactly, but he doesn’t argue with Louis. 

 

School starts off the same, for the most part. Summer passes by slowly — Liam finding himself calling his mom more, texting any of the other boys any chance he can — well, all of them but one. Liam tries not to feel guilty about it.

“You’ve got three teams contacting me, Liam. And you’ve got to figure out what you’re going to do,” Coach Green tells him the afternoon of one of their first practices of the season.

Liam shifts in his chair, clearing his throat. This is a big thing, he knows that. But it’s just — he has no fucking idea what he’s going to do, is the thing. 

“If I give a declaration now, then I’m out of college. What if I get injured?” Liam asks, looking at his papers.

Coach is quiet, and Liam can hear the team starting to file into the change rooms. He’s already got his jersey on — the _C_ prominent on his arm as he tugs on his sleeve, like some sort of reminder.

“Then you get injured,” Coach says simply, hands braced against his desk. From where he’s sitting, Liam can see the article about himself — framed and mounted on the wall, sending a strange feeling through him. “But you have to try and make sure that doesn’t happen. Which I know you can do.”

Liam takes in a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “I know,” he says, unsure of what else there is to say on the subject.

“I don’t want to push you any which way,” he starts, and Liam just listens, papers now in his lap. “But you don’t have to declare until what, January? February?” Liam nods. “And if you don’t declare this year, you run the risk of losing your spot to whichever new, talented player comes and takes your spotlight.”

“Thanks,” Liam says flatly.

“You know what I mean,” Coach says, tapping his pen against the top of his desk. “We can talk more about this next week, alright?”

Liam nods, stuffing his papers into his bag as he walks back to the changerooms — head feeling heavy and no real clear thoughts in his head while he goes.

 

It’s early October, now, the night before the practice for their next big game, Liam gets a text from Louis just as he’s entering his dorm room.

_call me. right now. it’s urgent._

Liam puts his bag down, turning on the television and setting it to the sports channel, as he normally does. North Carolina had their first game of the season today, and since Liam likes to keep himself informed, he keeps it on. Or so he tells himself, anyway.

“In other news, running fullback Harry Styles for the North Carolina Tar Heels, has been injured during their game tonight,” the announcer on the news is saying, annoyingly calm and sending a wave of panic through Liam. “He was taken out, and it’s said his shoulder was disconnected where he was taken off the field and rushed to the hospital. There’s no other news except that he’s been taken care off and is in stable condition.”

“Fuck,” Liam breathes out, hands shaking something violent as he unlocks his phone.

It rings once, twice, until he finally hear Louis’ voice. “Liam, don’t freak out, alright? Don’t —”

“Where the fuck is he, Louis,” Liam says, trying to sound calm as he gets his jacket and car keys — doesn’t let himself second guess what he’s about to do.

“He’s at home, in his apartment. He’s alright, okay? He’s fine, he’s going to be okay,” Louis says, sounding as not-worried as that news anchor, meanwhile Liam’s sure he’s somewhere close to breaking down.

“I’m going to see him,” Liam says, opening the driver’s side door of his truck.

“Liam, what are you talking about — you’ve got practice tomorrow, you can’t miss that,” Louis says. “Get out of your truck, right now.”

“And what, let him be injured and alone?” Liam snaps. “I’m going to see him.”

He hears Louis sigh, clearly resigned on the issue. “If I told you he’s fine, for the umpteenth time, would you get out of your truck?”

“Not a fucking chance,” Liam says.

“Fine,” Louis says. “Drive safe, alright? It’s a long one, I hear.”

“I’ll text you in a bit,” Liam promises before he hangs up, peeling out of the parking lot and onto the road.

 

He drives all through the night, the roads nearly empty and Liam doesn’t even put on the radio — doesn’t play anything, just focuses on the road, with his hands gripped tightly to the steering wheel.

He stops once for gas, filling up before he gets back onto the highway, not checking his phone until he pulls off into North Carolina.

Louis texted the address, Liam only getting a little lost before he pulls up in front of Harry’s building. Harry’s on the ground level, number four, as Liam finds the door to his apartment.

He knocks, once, before he realizes it’s a little before six in the morning. And he’s about to go back and maybe go find some food, when the door opens.

“Liam?” Harry asks, and his voice hits Liam harder than a pile of bricks. “What are you doing here?”

“I saw — the news,” Liam starts, hands tangled together in front of himself. “And I wanted — fuck, I wanted to see if you were alright.”

There’s silence, which Liam hadn’t been quite expecting. “You’ve got practice tomorrow,” Harry says.

His hair’s long — just like Liam’s seen in pictures. Longer than it was last summer, enough that it falls well past his ears, but still holds that curl to the end of it Liam loves so much. His eyes look tired, lips parted and wearing track pants and an overly large sweatshirt, one of his arms in a sling that makes Liam’s chest ache with worry he’s been feeling for the past number of hours.

“That’s not important,” Liam says firmly. “You’re more important.”

“You’re being rumoured to declare with a team this spring,” Harry continues, apparently not listening to whatever it is Liam has to say right now. “You can’t just go skipping fucking practices, Liam, don’t you —”

“It doesn’t matter, Harry, do you hear me?” Liam cuts him off, taking a step toward him. Harry doesn’t move, just keeps his eyes focused on Liam. “None of it fucking matters, if you’re hurt.”

Harry doesn’t flinch; eyes staying on Liam’s and lips pressed together as he shifts slightly, with the same determined look on his face that Liam’s sure matches his own. “It does fucking matter, Liam. It matters the most — especially because I’m _fine_ ,” Harry insists. 

“That’s why your arm is in that?” Liam asks sarcastically, motions to the sling. “Because you’re fine?”

He hasn’t seen Harry in months, let alone heard his voice. Liam’s thought about it, sure. Imagined he’d see Harry back home, at the grocery store and he’d walk on up to him — smile a little and they’d both remember what they could’ve had, what they gave up on so easily. 

But now he’s here, and Harry looks something like he’s pissed off at Liam. Or, like he wants to pissed off at Liam, but can’t find it in himself to be. Which is why, Liam assumes, Harry opens the door up farther, motioning him inside.

“Well get inside, then. Can’t have you sleeping on my porch like some maniac,” Harry mumbles, and Liam does as he’s told.

His apartment is small, but makes it very obvious that Harry lives here, Liam thinks to himself as he puts his bag down onto the floor.

“Where are you going,” Liam asks, watching Harry step off into another room.

“To make tea,” Harry says simply, followed by the sound of cupboard doors opening. 

“Do you need help?” Liam offers.

“No,” Harry says, and Liam doesn’t bother arguing with him about it.

Liam goes to sit on one of the two couches in the room, bouncing one of his legs up and down in what he can only assume to be nerves.

“Nice place,” Liam says, hands still in his lap, awkwardly twisted together.

He hears Harry snort, now back in the living room as he puts a mug in front of Liam. “Thanks,” he says, going back for his own mug, presumably.

And that’s when Liam sees it, tucked away on the table in Harry’s living room, under a stack of papers. The article. He hesitates before moving, reaching forward and taking it out as Harry stays sitting, doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at Liam as he stares at it.

“Some light reading?” Liam asks, pulling back the cover carefully.

“Something like that,” Harry says slowly, still not looking at him.

If it didn’t mean anything to Harry, he wouldn’t have kept it, Liam reminds himself. “Harry —” Liam starts, but Harry starts talking before he can finish.

“I haven’t seen in what, a year?” Harry asks, running his hand currently not in a sling through his hair. “And now you come back here, for what? Because my shoulder got dislocated?”

Harry’s mad. Or, he looks like he might be — Liam can see the way his forehead is creased where he’s holding the handle of his mug, knuckles white and making Liam’s stomach turn.

“I just —” Liam starts, feeling Harry’s eyes on him; with that ever intense gaze. “I needed space, that’s all.”

Harry makes a small sound, putting his mug down and seemingly giving up on drinking any of his tea entirely. “Well, that’s great. Thank you for letting me know,” Harry deadpans.

“It wasn’t like that,” Liam argues.

“I didn’t want space,” Harry says. He looks hurt, Liam can tell by the way he’s recoiling back into the couch. “That was the last thing I wanted, was space.”

“I know,” Liam says quietly.

He should say something, should tell Harry he didn’t want space either — but he didn’t know what the fuck they were doing, so he put space between them. That he let Harry go through his fingers because he didn’t know what they were doing.

Then again, he’s sure they didn’t know what they were doing.

“I’m going to sleep,” Harry says, slowly standing. “Haven’t had any tonight, so.”

“Alright,” Liam says, yawning into the back of his hand.

Harry hesitates in the doorway, hand against the edge of the door, but he doesn’t look back. Just keeps walking until Liam hears the sound of his bedroom door closing, leaning back onto the couch and letting his own eyes fall shut.

 

He wakes up in the early afternoon to a handful of missed calls, mostly from Coach Green.

Practice starts in about half an hour, and he won’t be there. Liam dials the familiar number, pressing the green button as his call goes through.

“Where the hell are you, Payne, our meeting was supposed to start half an hour ago,” Coach Green answers, and Liam feels himself tense at his voice.

“I know,” Liam says, closing his eyes tight. “I um, I won’t be there.”

“You know how I feel about jokes,” Coach Green says sternly. “It’s not a good feeling.”

Liam takes in a deep breath, can hear footsteps coming down the small hallway off the living room before he speaks again. “I had to do something,” Liam says, bracing himself for the outcome.

“What did you have to do that will make you miss practice,” Coach asks, not particularly wanting to know the answer, it sounds like. 

“Had to drive to North Carolina,” Liam explains. He can see Harry passing him, not saying anything and eyes puffy from just having woken up, walking into the kitchen. 

“Christ, are you —” Followed by a pause. Until, “is this about Styles.”

“Yes,” Liam says truthfully, because there’s no point going around it. Because what else is there to do in North Carolina, really, when it all boils down to it.

“We will talk about this when you get back, you hear me? We aren’t finished this conversation yet,” Coach Green tells him, sounding strangely not as angry as Liam thought he would be.

“Alright, yeah. I’ll — come stop by when I’m back, then,” Liam says.

Coach hangs up on him a few moments later, Liam slowly standing from Harry’s couch as he pads his way to the kitchen.

Harry’s back is too him, looking what Liam assumes to be cereal — if the milk and box on the counter is anything to go by. “What was that about,” Harry asks.

Liam’s quiet for a few moments, being handed a bowl and spoon as Liam accepts it. “Just my coach,” Liam explains.

Harry nods, lips pressed together in a thin line as Liam goes for the milk next.

“What did he say,” Harry asks, running his spoon around in his bowl wordlessly.

“He just wants to see me, when I get back,” Liam says.

Harry doesn’t say anything in response, moves back into the living room to eat as Liam follows behind him. They eat in mostly silence, the television playing quietly in the background as he picks at his cereal.

By the time he’s finished Harry’s bowl is on the table, empty, as Liam takes them both into the kitchen. With Harry’s arm he shouldn’t be doings dishes anyway, Liam reasons with himself as he pours some soap into the warm water filling up in the sink.

As he’s drying the last dish Liam sees Harry in the doorway, good arm hung around his waist as he looks like he might be on the verge of smiling.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Harry says finally.

Liam just shrugs, folding up the drying towel as he hangs it back onto the edge of Harry’s stove. “Wanted to do it before I left,” he says. “You know, like a parting gift.”

Harry’s expression falters, just a little, at Liam’s mention of leaving. “Back to Alabama, then,” Harry says.

“So it would seem,” Liam responds flatly.

He walks across the kitchen, closing the space between him and Harry with just a few short steps. And, slowly, he grips Harry’s forearm — hand gentle and smiling just a little, looking at him.

“Thank you,” Harry says after a moment, not moving away from Liam’s touch. “For, you know. Coming to check on me.”

“Anytime, you know that,” Liam says. “What was it you one said? We’d always have each other’s backs?”

Harry chews his lower lip, as if considering. “Yeah,” he says, but doesn’t expand much beyond it.

Liam leans forward, just a bit, catching the corner of Harry’s mouth with his own before he pulls back — swiping where his lips had just been moments ago with the pad of his thumb.

“I’ll um, talk to you later. See how you’re doing,” Liam says, rubbing his arms. Harry nods, looking a little dumbfounded.

 

“Um.” Harry says, eyes flickering to Liam’s lips, then back up to his eyes. “Sure, yeah.”

Liam grips Harry’s arm one last time before he goes, taking his bag and walking back out to his truck. 

 

He gets in a little before midnight, heading straight for bed without a second thought — sending Louis a quick text that is, in fact, alive and that him and Niall should stop calling him every five minutes asking if he’s okay, and goes right to sleep.

 

Coach Green tells him before the game that he’s benched, which doesn’t surprise Liam. He doesn’t release a statement, simply tells the inquiring press that Liam’s sitting out for personal reasons, and there’s nothing else too it.

So he sits on the bench, in full uniform and feeling a sense of anxiety going through him the entire time he’s left watching instead of out there, playing. 

_you’re an idiot. call me later._ Louis texted him during the game, Liam checking his phone after as he gets into his car.

“Got benched, did you?” Louis answers Liam’s call as he pulls up into his dorm parking lot. 

“If we’re stating the obvious you can do better than that,” Liam responds, taking his bag and closing the door behind himself.

Louis sighs. “I told you he was fine.”

“I wanted to check for myself,” Liam bites back, annoyed.

“Alright, fine. Whatever,” Louis says, giving up. “Do you get to play next game then?”

“Yes,” Liam says, like this should be very clear. 

“And you’re still — deciding, if you’re going to go with a team?” Louis asks.

“I don’t know yet?” Liam says, trying to find his keys from his pocket. “Why the twenty questions?”

“I’m just, checking,” Louis huffs. 

Liam manages to get his door open, phone pressed against his shoulder as he steps inside, kicking his door shut behind him. “Thank you for checking,” Liam says. “I have to go now, unless there’s something else you’d like to lecture me on.”

“If I think of anything else I’ll just give you a call, how’s that sound?” Louis asks.

“Sounds fine. Great, even,” Liam says flatly.

“Enough with the sarcasm,” Louis chastises.

Liam laughs before hanging up, tossing his phone onto his bed as he goes to turn on the television. He’s not really paying attention to it, just noise to keep his mind off of things as he takes out some clothes from his bag.

He’s about to decide on what he’s going to eat for dinner, when there’s a knock at his door. Liam pauses, glancing over toward it as he rolls his eyes. “Not now, Niall, I’ll come by tomorrow —” Liam starts, but he stops when the banging continues.

Liam sighs, putting down his computer as he goes to turn the handle, “alright, alright, calm down —” 

It’s Harry. For a moment Liam blinks, making sure he’s seeing right, before he speaks again.

“What are you —” but Harry doesn’t say anything, just pushes past Liam to get into his room.

“You’re a fucking idiot, you know that?” Harry starts, and he’s pissed. “I want to know what the fuck was going on your head, what you could possibly have been _thinking_ — coming up to see me. Making us both benched. _Both_ of us, not playing a game. Not just me, because of my stupid fucking arm, but you too.”

Liam opens his mouth, then closes it. Harry continues, not even stopping to ask about Liam’s silence. “You’re the one who’s going for the draft. You’re the one who’s going to make something of himself, Liam, don’t you get that? You can’t — go out wasting your time and missing practices because I have a dislocated shoulder, of all things,” Harry’s ranting now, voice raised and with no signs of stopping anytime soon.

“You’ve had, what, a handful of teams contact your coach. There’s been so many of them, and don’t you dare tell me there hasn’t been any —” Harry points an accusatory finger at Liam as he talks now. “And you’re going to just toss it out a window? For this?” He motions to his arm in a sling.

“It’s not tossing it out a window,” Liam says firmly. “If it’s for you, it’s not that.”

Harry stares at him. “Are you even listening to yourself? You haven’t talked to me in a _year_ —”

“You’re with Taylor,” Liam says. He can see Harry’s cheeks coloured red in the lighting of his room, “I wasn’t going to start calling you, not when you’ve got someone else.”

Harry rubs his temple with his free hand, shaking his head. “We’re not — together, anymore. She dumped me in the summer, before I went home.”

Oh. “Oh,” Liam says, arms limply at his sides.

“Yeah, well. That’s life, isn’t it,” Harry says, jaw set as he talks. “But this isn’t about Taylor. This is about you, making stupid decisions that are going to affect your future, Liam.”

“Stop saying that,” Liam says, taking a step toward Harry. Harry doesn’t move, just watches Liam — much like he had yesterday, in his apartment. “It’s not stupid, if it’s you.”

“So you’ve said,” Harry says.

“It’s just one game, Harry. I sit out one game, that’s it,” Liam continues, because Harry’s stopped talking now, it seems. 

Harry’s not looking at Liam, doesn’t even look like he’s paying attention as his gaze flickers down to Liam’s lips, lingering for a moment before meeting his eyes once again. Liam doesn’t say anything, deciding to test the waters for himself as he leans forward, slowly, lips mere inches from Harry’s as they stand in one another’s space for a few moments.

But Harry’s here. He’s here, right in front of Liam, and Liam will be damned if he lets him go back out that door without trying to fix this, best he can.

The only thing that comes to mind is to kiss him, so Liam does just that. 

There’s no hesitation, no moments of panic as Harry presses back against Liam’s mouth — fierce and unrelenting. He bites down on Liam’s lower lip, Liam pressing his hands into Harry’s lower back in an attempt to keep them closer, being wary of Harry’s arm as they step back toward Liam’s bed.

Harry’s mouth is warm, tasting like mint and coffee, and Liam can’t get enough of it. His knees are the first to hit the back of his bed, moving slowly to sit as Harry follows after him — slow and steady to keep his arm from knocking against anything as he’s practically sitting in Liam’s lap now. 

Liam licks into Harry’s mouth easily, one of his hands cradling the back of Harry’s head as he feels his pillows press against his back. There’s things they need to talk about, conversations that have to happen — but Liam can’t think of a single word he wants to say where he’s sitting, Harry’s hand resting on his thigh where it’s warm and causing him to shiver in response.

Harry’s warm, radiating the usual heat Liam’s missed over these number of months without him — the hand that was at the back of his neck moving through Harry’s hair before he tugs, gently, and that’s when Harry’s mouth goes slack.

Liam hums, sucking on Harry’s lower lip as he smiles. “Like that?” he asks, feeling Harry’s hips rock up against where he’s straddling Liam’s thigh.

He feels Harry’s hand grip at the fabric desperate and tugging, making a quiet sort of whining sound as Liam pulls back, just a bit.

“Harry —” he starts, feeling himself being pushed back against his pillows. 

“No time to talk right now,” Harry says, breathless, and its now Liam can feel his half hard cock pressed up against his leg.

“No,” Liam says, slowly, and Harry pauses. His eyes are wide, looking like he’s fearful of what Liam’s about to say next. “Let me —” he pauses, pressing his thumb into the inside of Harry’s wrist. “Take care of you, please.”

It’s a few moments before Harry nods, and that’s when Liam kisses him again — a gentle press of the lips as he tugs on the hem of Harry’s shirt, like a silent question.

Harry complies easily, taking a few moments for the two of them to get it off without causing him to be in any pain. It works, and Liam takes his own off next, putting it somewhere on the floor as Harry traces a hand along his chest lightly.

They shift, Harry now beneath Liam as he slots himself between Harry’s legs. Harry smiles now, wide, as Liam kisses along the skin of his neck.

“Something you’d like to share with the class?” Liam asks. 

Harry runs a hand down Liam’s back, hands soft and moving in the same, constant motion as he talks — lips pressed against Liam’s temple. “Like this view, that’s all,” he tells Liam.

Liam kisses Harry briefly, before moving down to his collar bone, trailing his shoulder, as Harry makes a soft, breathy sound in response. “Could get used to it myself,” he echos, watching the way Harry’s hair falls across his forehead.

“ _Liam_ ,” Harry says, sounding a little more needy now as he presses a kiss to whatever is closest to him of Liam — the inside of his elbow.

Liam nods, gently tugging on the waistband of Harry’s track pants — starting to tug them off him slowly. Harry complies easily, moving his hips as Liam kisses down his stomach — along his hips and moving to suck the skin on the inside of his thighs. He gets his own off next, the pile of their clothes now growing on the floor as Liam strokes Harry’s dick, once, slowly. The reaction is immediate — letting out a shaky breath as Liam watches him fist his hands into his bedsheets to try and keep himself quiet.

“Need some help?” Harry asks, and when Liam looks up at him he’s grinning.

Liam bites the inside of Harry’s thighs, bringing one of his fingers to brush Harry’s rim as he inhales sharply in response. “I know what I’m doing,” Liam informs him, and Harry makes no arguments against it. 

There’s some lube in his night table, Liam moving to get it — opening the drawer beside his bed as Harry bites the love of his ear impatiently.

Liam smiles, kissing Harry briefly before he pops open the lid — dribbling some of the cool liquid onto his fingers as he brings a pillow under Harry’s legs to help prop him up. He waits until Harry is good and ready, practically begging for Liam as he puts his first finger in slowly.

It’s a few moments for Harry to adjust, clenching around Liam that has his head spinning with a tight, warm heat that accompanies it. Liam kisses under Harry’s jaw, his own dick getting hard between his legs as he presses a second finger in carefully.

Harry’s lips are parted, eyes closed and head tilted back and the sight of him makes Liam’s heart pound in his chest, loud and insistent. He wants to remember this moment — save it somewhere in the back of his mind and never, ever forget it.

“Ready?” Liam asks, just to make sure.

If he hadn’t of been watching Harry Liam would’ve missed his nod entirely, letting out a small moan as Liam pushes a third one in, continuing with his steady rhythm. He watches the way Harry takes in slow breaths, the tattoo’s on his stomach moving with him as Liam rests one of his hands on the ferns along Harry’s waist, his fingers nearly spanning the length of them. 

He stretches his fingers, forehead pressed against Harry’s chest as Liam reaches for the condom on top of the small table. 

Liam sits up slowly, slicking himself up in preparation and trying to calm himself down as best he can. His hands are shaking just a little as Harry lets out a choked sound beneath him.

“Okay,” Liam says, taking Harry’s free hand into own as he intertwines their fingers. Harry goes easily, squeezing once.

“Okay,” Harry says back, and that’s all Liam needs to hear.

Liam lets himself focus, concentrates on pushing into Harry as gently as he can — feels one of Harry’s arms wrap around his shoulders to try and steady them both. It’s quiet but it all seems so loud in Liam’s head, his mind racing and his heart nearly screaming out all the feeling he’s having like he can’t feel any one thing but all separate and different emotions that he can’t seem to pin one down.

But then again, that’s how it’s always been with Harry. Never one thing, always Liam guessing what he’s going to do next — each step a strange surprise that Liam has found himself missing with the little while they’ve been apart. So, Liam leans down — kissing Harry firmly, but somehow also gently, pushing all the way in as he pulls out slowly, not wanting to rush it. And Harry doesn’t push him, just kisses Liam back and makes the same, high pitched sounds that almost has Liam seeing stars.

This is all he’s ever wanted. _Harry’s_ all he’s ever wanted, and he’s here, he’s here and Liam still can’t seem to wrap his head around that. 

It’s not long before both of them come, Liam working up as he pulls in and out — both their hands still tangled together above Harry’s head, his other hand braced beside Harry as he buries his face into his neck.

“Liam —” Harry warns, and it’s about half a minute before he comes.

Liam kisses his hair, keeping his lips there as Harry comes down from it — and it’s a few more moments before Liam follows, pulling out one final time as he collapses beside Harry.

For a little while its just the sounds of them breathing, Harry bringing their hands to his chest as Liam lets his eyes fall closed. That is, until he feels a gentle finger poke into his side. Once, twice, three times before it has Liam opening his eyes, looking over where Harry’s staring at him.

“Hi,” Harry says, dimples pressed into his cheeks.

“Comments? Questions? Concerns?” Liam asks, and Harry laughs — the sound bright.

“I mean, it was pretty good, if I’m honest,” Harry says, because he’s a dick.

Liam smirks into his pillow, rolling his eyes as he rubs his thumb along Harry’s jaw line lightly. “That’s — comforting,” Liam says, moving a little closer.

Harry’s eyes trail along his face, slowly; like he’s trying to take everything in. Liam lets out a slow breath, brushing some hair from his forehead.

“You know what this means?” Harry asks.

“Still can’t read minds, you know,” Liam says, tapping Harry’s forehead teasingly.

“Enough,” Harry says, only somewhat firmly as he presses a kiss to the palm of Liam’s hand. “It means we’ve been kind of stupid, about — all this.”

 

“All this, meaning —” 

“Us,” Harry clarifies. “This means you won’t be able to get rid of me now, Payne.”

Liam nods, pressing his lips together as if he’s in some kind of consideration. “I mean, I guess I could get used to that.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asks. “There’s a lot involved, you know.”

“If you can compact it into a list that would be more helpful,” Liam says. “Easier to keep track of everything, that way.”

“Well for one, I demand breakfast in bed every morning.” Liam bites back a grin. “And for two, if we are home and there’s no one else around — you have to be naked, no questions asked.”

“How very typical,” Liam says, but there’s no real heat behind it.

“I mean, I don’t come easy,” Harry says. 

“So I’ve very recently come to realize,” Liam says, smiling where he’s got his lips pressed to Harry’s temple. 

“You have time to back out, you know,” Harry says, with a very small sense of seriousness behind it.

“I think I’m alright. Here, with you,” Liam tells him, because it’s as simple as that, now that he’s here.

Harry noses along Liam’s hairline, free hand curling around his waist as Liam runs his thumb along Harry’s ear thoughtfully.

“So, what do you say,” Harry asks.

Liam doesn’t need time to think about it. Has no moment of hesitation before he says, “I say, if you’re in — I’m in.”

“You jump, I jump?” Harry asks in response.

Liam snorts, feeling Harry’s lips drag along his collarbone. “Don’t know if we’re quite ready for Titanic references, yet,” Liam comments while absently running a hand along Harry’s side.

“We’ll work up to it, then,” Harry reassures him.

Yeah, Liam thinks to himself. They will.

 

Harry goes with Liam to practice the next morning. Though technically, since Harry plays for one of their rival teams, he shouldn’t be allowed in. 

“Coach Green’s an old friend of my step dad’s,” Harry explains, hand intertwined with Liam’s as they approach the locker rooms. “He’ll let me stay.”

Liam rolls his eyes, laughing. “You sound so sure of yourself.”

Harry shrugs, doesn’t argue that fact as he lets go of Liam’s hand — starting off toward the field out the door of the changeroom. Liam watches him go for a moment, going off to his locker as he runs a hand through his hair.

He’s out on the bench when Liam gets onto the field, in a sweater and his arm still in the sling as Liam goes to sit next to him.

“Was just telling your friend here he should come play for us,” one of the assistant coaches, Hank, tells Liam.

Liam nods. “Been telling him that for almost three years now,” he says.

The rest of the team is coming out onto the field when Liam hears Coach Green’s voice. “Styles! This mean you’ve changed your mind about picking Carolina over me?” he calls out, walking over toward them.

“No sir,” Harry replies with a sheepish grin.

He’d given Liam a good, stern, talking too when he’d gotten back from his little trip to see Harry last week, and doesn’t look anywhere close to how angry he’d been then. “I could’ve had a dynamic duo with you two knuckleheads on my team,” he says, pointing to the two of them. “If you were here I would’ve been able to have _him_ —” Coach Green points at Liam now, “playing for my last game.”

Harry nods, trying to keep a straight face. “I’ll remember that next time I get my shoulder dislocated.”

Liam snorts, Coach Green looking between them as he shakes his head. It’s a moment before he looks between the two of them, “the possibilities I could’ve had, with you two.”

Neither of them say anything, and Coach Green doesn’t take long before he’s back out on the field, ordering and instructing his teammates where to go as Liam wipes a hand along his forehead.

“Seems like a very nice man,” Harry comments.

Liam shakes his head, pressing a quick kiss to Harry’s cheek before he jogs out onto the field — ignoring the loud, catcalls as he goes.

And it’s nice, Liam decides then. Having Harry here. He could get used to it.

 

_a little while later…_

“Apparently it rains nine months out of the year in Seattle,” Louis says from Liam’s bed, holding up a brochure. 

Liam makes a face, Niall tossing a handful of socks at him. “Look at the pictures, they have nice scenery,” Zayn suggests, poking the page. 

“I’m not a _child_ ,” Louis snaps, flicking Zayn’s hand.

Niall laughs, Louis flipping the next page as Liam crosses his arms over his chest. Beside him, his phone buzzes.

_How’s Louis taking the news? Is the brochure helping? :)_

Liam smiles, can’t help himself, as he unlocks the screen. _The picsssss are helping 4sure_

Harry sends back a string of smiling emoji’s, Liam putting his phone back down as Louis makes a disgruntled sound.

“So that’s it? You’re a Seattle…”

“Seahawk,” Niall finishes, winking over at Liam. 

“What even _is_ a seahawk,” Louis mutters. 

Liam rolls his eyes, decidedly not saying anything as he instead listens to Niall’s arguments, Zayn letting out an exasperated sigh every once in a while when neither of them let up in their constant bickering.

It’s the middle of January, and Liam’s declared himself to the Seattle Seahawks. It took a long time and an even longer period of consideration before he’d reached the conclusion. There is, always, the debate of distance — too which Harry told Liam time and time again “that’s what Skype’s for, obviously.”

“For what, getting awkwardly naked on camera for your boyfriend?” Liam asked, watching Harry’s eyebrows raise in clear amusement. 

“I didn’t mention getting naked. I meant for, you know, catching up,” he said.

Liam blushed, avoiding Harry’s gaze and debating burying himself somewhere six feet under the ground and muttered something like, “right, well. Forget I said anything.” 

“I’m not saying we can’t get naked. I’m all for us being naked. On camera, when we’re together — any and all places you’d like, really.” Harry told him, kissing the back of Liam’s neck and assuring him that he had absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about.

“It’s pretty far though,” Liam said.

“What is,” Harry asked, looking at Liam through his laptop screen.

“Seattle,” Liam says.

Harry nods, lips pulling down into a frown as Liam licks his lower lip. “Yeah, it is,” he says in agreement.

“Not too far from you, though,” Liam added after a moment. And that’s when he’d seen Harry smile, just a little, that had made Liam’s worries lessen. 

His mom isn’t too fond of the idea of Liam moving to Seattle — but they’re proud, they all are, and Liam knows he’s taken a risk, but. He can’t see his life going in any other direction, and that’s become very obvious to him now.

“Seahawks are ugly,” Louis says decidedly.

“Thank you,” Liam deadpans, ignoring the scowl Louis gives him in response.

“Seattle is also far,” Louis adds. “From like, you know. Here.”

“Very observant,” Liam says. Louis not so subtly flips him off.

It’s quiet for a few moments, and Liam knows the question before either of them ask it.

“Are you scared?” Zayn asks, causing Liam to look up from his phone.

He chews his lower lip, considering. “Yeah,” he says, because there’s no other way around it. “It’ll be alright, though. I’m pretty sure.”

“Well I mean —” Niall says, smirking. “If you’re pretty sure, then you’re set.”

“Shut up,” Liam says, the group of them breaking out into laughter as Liam feels something like relief settle in him.

 

_after a few, long months of adjustment..._

If there’s one thing that’s never changed in Liam’s entire life, it’s Tennessee summers. They always drag out longer than necessary, but never seeming long enough at the same time.

His truck, by some miracle, is still intact and in one piece. He’d come home to find it in his parents driveway, collecting dust and untouched by anyone else when he’d found the keys in his mothers junk drawer, in the desk next to his father’s office.

He’s been home all of one afternoon and he doesn’t ever want to leave. His mom made lunch, the entire family sitting around the table and his mother practically glowing in the sunlight coming through the window. Makes Liam realize how much he’d missed them, even when he called his mom every night after practice — that never faded.

It’s hot out, sticky and lingering and making the air feeling almost unbearable as Liam rests his hand out his window, tapping to the beat on the radio as he pulls up into a familiar driveway.

There’s a familiar figure out on the porch, sitting on the swing where their long legs are hanging over the edge of it — pushing back and forth. Liam cuts the engine, takes out his keys and puts them into his pocket as he gets out of the truck, closing the door behind him.

“Hey there, stud. Didn’t get lost on the way?”

Liam grins, can’t help himself, as he walks up along the driveway, hands in his pockets as he goes. “Still know my way around, I’ll have you know,” Liam says, trying to sound defensive but he’s sure the ridiculous look on his face is giving him away.

“Glad you could make it,” Harry says, immediately reaching for Liam’s hand as soon as he’s close enough.

“Glad to be here,” Liam says, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips.

Harry smiles against the contact, wrapping his arms around Liam’s neck as he moves to come sit beside him on the swing. 

“Bring me a souvenir?” Harry asks as they pull apart, running his thumb along Liam’s wrist bone. 

“The Space Needle, actually,” Liam says, feeling Harry’s warm breath fan along his cheek as he laughs in response.

“Seems a bit big,” Harry says, tapping a finger against Liam’s cheek.

“It’s coming in small pieces. Have to build it yourself,” Liam explains, feeling one of Harry’s hands grip his thigh briefly.

“Come home and you’re already making me do work,” Harry says, pouting.

“That doesn’t sound like an ‘I missed you, Liam,’” he points out.

Harry pauses, running his thumb along Liam’s lower lip. “I missed you, Liam,” Harry repeats in a sing-song voice. “Liam Payne, Big Payno, also known as a big football star to most of the world.”

“Stop,” Liam tells him, kissing Harry — which seems to get him to shut up rather effectively.

“Alright, alright, I relent,” Harry says, pressing one of his hands against Liam’s chest.

Liam kisses Harry again, slow and gentle and he’s going to be leaving again in just a few, short weeks, but for now?

For now it’s enough. Harry’s always been enough.

**Author's Note:**

> i'mmmmmm on the world wide web on [tumblr](http://loueh.tumblr.com/). come say hi!


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